Away From the Sun
by NateSean
Summary: A freak quickening is the first step in a journey that brings Duncan facetoface with his worse enemy everhimself.
1. Prologue

Highlander

Away from the Sun

By Nathanielle Sean Crawford

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything in this story. The title for this story is "Away from The Sun", a song by 3 Doors Down which I think depicts Duncan's life pretty nicely. The way he keeps fighting to live that noble life in spite of the hardships of losing loved ones and getting hurt by the people he trusts.

Any song lyrics I use are purely to evoke emotion in a scene, and I promise I will credit the original artists as the song crops up.

Note: This takes place long after Endgame, but depending on when "The Source" comes out, I won't be using any influence from the new movie in this story. Largely this is a post-Endgame story and that's about it.

**Prologue**

New York August, 8 2005

"For God's sake Amanda, you look fine."

"Well it's not like I'm dressing for just _any _formal occasion." Amanda responded, turning to the side and looking into the mirror. The glittering silver dress hung nicely from her firm and delicate physique. It came down to her waste and split into a V-shape, revealing her legs. "This is a Broadway performance, one of the most sophisticated theaters in the country. And a night like this you want to look your best."

Duncan sighed and checked his watch. The performance wasn't until eight o'clock that night, but he had been hoping to get dinner before the event. New York was well known for its fine dining experiences, he was looking forward to experiencing them again before too long. But the way things were going he would be lucky to get a pretzel and a can of soda with minutes to spare before the opening curtains.

Such was the fate of a man who was desperate enough for company that he invited Amanda Mantrose along. He and his credit card were her hostages as they spent some much needed quality time together. Methos was having a liquid road trip at Joe's bar in Seacouver and Joe himself was spending time with family and friends while traveling through Europe. That left his old friend Charlie, whom he hadn't had contact with in years, and Maurice, the old chef who still haunted the rivers of Paris.

_Damn, _Duncan thought, unable to suppress a smirk. _I need to get some new friends._

"What?" Amanda said, indignantly. "Is there something wrong with the dress? Does it make my ass look too big?"

"Not at all," Duncan said, leaning back on red satin divan. Somewhere towards the register he could hear the clerks giggling. "I was thinking of something else. Are you ready yet?"

Amanda took a look in the mirror again. The dress _did _match her hair, for at least another month or so, until the hair dye wore off. Still, being the sort to blend into a crowd, she paid. Something in black really suited her better though.

"Not quite," she said, turning to one of the clerks.

Duncan threw up his hands.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, trying to make the best of the situation.

"Not right now precious."

"Well, I need to get something to eat." Duncan handed Amanda one of his platinum cards. "When you're finished here meet me at the hotel. We'll take a cab to the theater."

"Oh, Duncan," Amanda feigned a gasp. "What a gentleman you are. I don't suppose you'd mind if I stopped at Harvey's Jewelry on the way would you?"

"How about when hell freezes over?" Duncan retorted.

Amanda snatched up the card and tucked it into the pocket of her trench coat, which hung draped over the mirror. Duncan signed a piece of paper, so the clerks would know he condoned Amanda using the card.

"For the dress _only_," he emphasized, and then he left.

It wasn't as hot as it was earlier that day. Summers in Manhattan were particularly muggy, with the added pollution from vehicles and buildings. But September silently approached and autumn soon thereafter, the nights were getting cooler. Not for the first time, Duncan found himself missing the starlit skies over his clan's home in Scotland. Here amid the bright neon lights it was near to impossible to see any stars.

At first Duncan questioned the wisdom of leaving her card with Amanda. But he shrugged it off. After all, if the worse thing she could do to him is injure his credit rating he was grateful. And it wasn't like he couldn't pay it off if she maxed it out. Ever since the death of his mentor and fellow clansman he had come into possession of a few extra items, and the apartment. There was also a generous portion of money left to Duncan after all of Conner's beneficiaries had been adequately taken care of.

Duncan went to a small diner for a burger and fries. It wasn't the exquisite banquet from a five star restaurant but it was a filling meal, and it satisfied his appetite for food and familiarity. The melted cheese and the juicy beef sandwiched between hot bread, the fresh veggies, the fries that weren't too greasy or salty, and an ice cold Guinness brought back fond memories of spending a lazy afternoon with Richie, Joe, or any of the friends he had known in the last century.

Amanda wanted familiarity too, he could tell. Currently she had more friends who were still living. At least one old flame had entered the Game not too long ago. Duncan never got around to asking much about him, but given that Amanda knew so much about his personal life he thought she could stand to tell him a thing or too.

Duncan saw that there was at least an hour to go till curtain time. He paid the check, tipping generously, and hoped Amanda was waiting at the hotel room getting dressed into her new ensemble.

As he made his way for the Plaza he caught a faint buzz. He stopped at a street light and looked around, like a tourist trying to take in as much as possible before the day was out. Not seeing Amanda or anyone else that made the buzz die down, Duncan followed it to a bridge in Central Park.

The buzz died when he came upon two Immortals he didn't recognize. The first was a boy with short blond hair, wearing beige khakis, a tight white sweater and a gray overcoat. The second man seemed slightly older, dark skinned and bald, wearing a head band, torn black shirt and blue jeans.

A flash of light from a streetlamp glinted off of Blondie's short white blade. In the fading daylight it as difficult to tell but Duncan guessed it was a Celtic sword. Headband was using what Duncan guessed was an infantry sword. He'd seen soldiers in India using them, and it raised some interesting questions about this Immortal's background. The Indian blade was longer, and Headband had the advantage of size to counter act Blondie's apparent speed.

Blondie parried several times as Headband pushed him back, towards the bridge and into the brick wall. Headband swung and Blondie quickly ducked, stepping out of Headband's range long enough to acknowledge Duncan's presence and get back into the fight.

Duncan felt another buzz and soon found Amanda standing beside him, dress in toe and intrigued by the battle.

"Anyone you know?" She asked, keeping her voice low.

"No," Duncan shook his head. "I know we can't interfere but I don't think we should let them fight this out here. Someone might see."

"Yeah, or one of them will have a body to explain," Amanda pointed out. "Conner had to deal with a couple of those didn't he?"

Duncan withheld a wince at the mention of his fellow clansmen. Amanda was being conversational, not tactless.

"Oh well," she said, with a shrug. "There's nothing we can do. They're obviously seasoned enough to know better. Let them figure it out."

"And if they're brought in by the police?"

Amanda sighed. She took a second glance at the blond one and noticed how young he looked. That and he was blond didn't help matters. Duncan had an unnerving habit of never letting go of the past, and she had no doubt that this boy was-in his mind-a dead ringer for Richie.

"We're gonna miss the opening of _Chicago_," she said, trying to snap Duncan out of it. "The queue's gonna take forever, and you know how much I haate waiting in line."

Amanda gently led him away by the arm.

"If it makes you feel any better we can stop by later tonight and find out who won. It's the Game Duncan. In case you haven't noticed, we're not the only people playing it."

Duncan knew she was right. He didn't come to New York to get involved in fights that weren't his own. Whoever was the victor would have the responsibility of dealing with the loser, and if Conner and a host of others could live here these two could certainly manage.

"Friends of yours?" Gavin asked, tauntingly.

"Never met them," Devon said truthfully.

He parried Gavin's blow and tried to use the extra momentum to force him back. Gavin ended up forcing _him _back a second time, causing him to fall back into the wall. Devon spun around and stepped back into tunnel as sparks flew from where Gavin's sword impacted. Gavin made a vertical swipe, forcing Devon to jump back as he parried the blow.

"We could do this all night," Gavin said. "Or you can let me take your head and save time."

"Thing I'll go with that first plan," Devon responded. "Or better yet, I'll use this one."

Devon parried another blow with the sword in his right hand and began to shrug his coat off as he moved. He parried again with the left and he shrugged the rest of the coat, which he held in front of him like a bullfighter's cape. Gavin raised his sword and prepared to swipe from left to right. Instead of stepping back Devon parried the blow and threw the coat over Gavin's head, blinding him temporarily.

"What the hell?"

In the confusion Devon took a few good swipes at his arms and midsection. Gavin threw off the coat and thrust. Devon stepped aside and with a swift blow, cut Gavin's right hand off completely. Then in the same movement he drove the blade into Gavin's chest, through the ribcage and into the heart. Gavin dropped to the ground, clutching his arm and breathing rabidly as the blood rushed from his wounds.

Devon took a few steps back and surveyed the damage.

"I could let you go," he said. "If you promise you won't come after me again."

Gavin looked at Devon. His heart was racing and he was coughing up blood as he struggled for breath.

"Fu-" but he never go to finish the sentence as death laid a temporary claim on him.

"Well," Devon said, preparing for the blow. "I tried."

It was swift and clean. Head separated from body and Devon looked out of the tunnel, towards the darkening sky. Most likely no one saw the battle. And even if the cops came there'd be no evidence to find.

Devon took a deep breath as the mist rose. A fierce wind picked up as bolts of lightening struck him several times. As the waves of energy overtook his body the lampposts from the bridge above blew out, sending sparks and glass flying. Devon raised his sword and held the position for a few minutes as the Quickening reached its highpoint.

Then…something unusual happened. Suddenly, the Quickening was no longer focused on Devon, but on the entire tunnel. Waves of electricity filled the tunnel with an otherworldly energy that he had never seen before. At the end of the tunnel time seemed to distort with a kind of ripple effect. It looked like waves caused by a person swishing his hand back and forth in the water. And just as quickly as it began, the effect stopped along with the Quickening.

Devon let out a sigh of relief. Still charged with energy from the Quickening he walked towards the end of the tunnel. Nothing seemed all that different. The park still continued for a few miles and the lights and sounds of cars and buildings could still be heard. As Devon got closer to the other side he could feel the buzz once more.

_Those other two maybe? _He wondered, keeping his sword ready.

At the other end of the tunnel it was just as he'd figured. A grackle pecked at some bread on the ground, a few squirrels were still rushing about-nothing unusual at all. And the sounds of New York City life still filled his ears. The phenomenon was nothing important.

Devon heaved another sigh of relief and laughed at his own paranoia. He knew he had to get out of here before someone saw the body and the police arrived. But the buzz was strong again and he couldn't ignore it. Devon turned to see the next thing in a series of strange things that were yet to come.

His own body was lying out in the open, bleeding from the neck with his head not too far from it. And standing over his body was the black, muscular man Devon had beheaded earlier. They stood their ground and raised their swords in defense.

"What the hell is going on here?" The two immortals asked, in confusion.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

New York, August 8th, 2005: Alternate Timeline

"I just killed you," Devon said, exasperated.

"And I just killed you," Gavin replied, equally exhausted.

It took Devon a few minutes to register this Gavin's appearance. He wasn't the same vicious street gangster from a few moments ago. He wore a black leather jacket and trousers, and his shoes were cleaner and in good repair.

Devon looked at his own "body" and noticed a few differences as well. The sword was the same, but the clothes were all different. They were scruffy looking and filthy, with tears along the legs of corduroy pants. He wore a blue sweat jacket, which was now soaked in blood.

"What the hell is going on here?" Devon repeated, lowering his sword.

"I'd like to figure that out too," Gavin said, lowering his own blade. "Can we call a truce and figure this out?"

Devon nodded.

"You know it's funny," he said.

"What is?"

"I offered to let you go just a few moments ago."

Gavin snorted.

"Yeah, well, that is funny, because you never gave me a chance to make peace." Gavin sheathed his weapon as Devon did. "Well, _he _never did."

Gavin held out his hand. Devon held out his own and cautiously approached, avoiding stepping over his own body. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw that thing. As they shook hands, signifying the truce, a new buzz triggered their radars.

"Oh now what?" Devon asked.

Someone leapt down from the bridge, flipping a few times before hitting the ground. Devon and Gavin both jumped back, surprised. The man stood to height, raising a katana in challenge. He was tall, muscular and had a ponytail. He wore flowing black trench coat which billowed in the air like a cape as it settled around his feet. Devon recognized him as the man he'd seen earlier, with the platinum blond woman.

"I am Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod." The man said, taking a step forward. His eyes were wild and he had a wicked grin that sent chills though Devon's spine. "Which of you wants to die first?"

Devon was exhausted from the last fight. And as much as he hated to think about it, Gavin probably was too. But instinctively they both drew their swords.

Duncan didn't give them a chance to respond. Instead he rushed them, screaming madly and swiping once. Gavin took the blow with his own sword and Devon stepped out of the side.

"Ah, thank you for volunteering," Duncan said, looking at Devon only once. "I guess we'll meet again later child."

Instinctively Devon picked up the sword that belonged to his counterpart.

"Run," Gavin said, parrying a strike.

Devon didn't argue the matter. Forgetting the tunnel he ran for the safety of the city as the fight raged. In his state of mind he was thankful he had the sense to conceal both swords beneath his-he didn't have his coat! He remembered leaving the coat at the scene of the fight-the fight _he _won. So now he had no way to conceal his swords and no way to prevent the cops from tracing the dead Gavin's body to him!

Devon looked back towards the bridge. All he could hear was the clanging of swords now. And from the looks of that other Immortal he wasn't so sure he wanted to be around when the battle was over.

He checked his pockets and thankfully found his wallet. If he could get to a clothing shop and buy a trench coat he'd be set. He concealed the swords beneath his shirt as best as possible, and made his way down 42nd street. He happened to find a reasonably priced shop full of people who were happy to keep their mouths shut about the swords when he produced enough cash.

Once concealing the swords was no longer a problem he made his way through New York, keeping his eyes open for trouble.

Duncan Macleod. That was the name of the immortal. Wasn't that a pretty popular name with their kind? Devon was sure he'd heard it mentioned once or twice. One way or another nothing was making sense. He hailed a cab and tried to rationalize things.

First there was seeing his own body lying on the ground, defeated no less by his opponent whom he killed moments before. And this other Gavin was so much more cleanly cut than the original.

Devon went through some of the memories gained during the quickening. The Gavin he knew grew up in the streets, getting passed from group home, to juvenile hall, to one gang, then back to jail again. He came into the game during a shoot out with a rival gang, and his mentor only had time to give him the basics before losing his own head. New York was a dangerous place to be an immortal. Devon's own mentor didn't last longer than a few years, after teaching him all he knew. Of course that wasn't even entirely fair, since the immortal that killed him cheated.

Devon shook his head. This wasn't the time to think of people who couldn't help him now. He needed to get to his apartment, so he gave the driver directions and sat back, running his hands through his hair.

There was a traffic accident up ahead.

"Ah crap," the driver cursed. "I'm gonna have to take a long cut around the waterfront."

"That's fine," Devon said, without thinking. He leaned his head against the window and gazed at the world lazily. He was tired both physically and mentally.

He was about to doze when something caught his eye out of the other window.

_No way… _Devon thought. _No possible way that could be…_

"Hey," He asked out loud. "What is that?"

The driver glanced out the side of the window.

"Oh that? That's the World Trade Center." The driver stopped at a red light. "This your first time in New York, buddy?"

Time stopped as Devon fought to control his beating heart. He absentmindedly with drew some cash and handed it to the driver, not even looking to see how much it was.

"Gee, thank you sir,-"

Devon stepped out of the car and walked back towards the site, looking up the entire time. They were as tall and beautiful as he remembered them. People were working late and office lights could be seen shining from the upper floors. Not a trace of damage or harm.

"Oh my god…" he tried to mutter. But as he got closer he found that words failed him.

There, standing in front of him towering above all of New York in all of their beauty…were the Twin Towers.

Devon dropped to his knees, much to the shock of a few passerbies.

"Sir," someone said. "Sir, are you all right?"

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly and stumbled onto his side. The sword tore through the fabric of his trench coat but no one seemed to notice. Devon regained his composure and climbed to his feat, desperate to preserve his dignity as well as his sanity.

"No…" He answered honestly. "No I'm not all right."

"Do you need an ambulance?" Another person, a woman asked kindly.

"No thanks," Devon answered. "Please, thank you. I'm fine."

But Devon was far from all right. He ran away from the towers, confused, angry and upset. Tears streaked down his cheeks, but he ignored them. Emotion was going to get him killed.

Devon ran until he was certain he couldn't run any more. He was exhausted once more as he collapsed into a bench. The street was loud with traffic, and even beneath him he could feel the rumble of the subway. He rubbed his temples, wishing desperately that he could block out the sounds of the modern world. Occasionally someone would stop and ask if he was okay, but he brushed them off as politely as possible.

"Where the hell am I?" He asked, for the third time that night. He had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

New York, August 8 2005: Current Timeline

"That was beautiful," Amanda said as she and Duncan exited the theater arm-in-arm. "Although I wonder if I should be suing for royalties."

Duncan laughed.

"Bare a striking relationship to your own career?" He teased.

"Oh please," Amanda rolled her eyes. "Velma had it all wrong. Now if _I _were going to shoot my husband I'd do it, and then fake my own death afterwards so there'd be no way to pin the murder on me."

"Well, not all of us have that luxury," Duncan said, hailing a cab.

"Do you still want to go back to Central Park?" Amanda asked. "It is getting pretty dark."

"I'll only be an hour or so," Duncan promised. He kept his voice low so the driver wouldn't hear.

"What if the police show up?"

"If they're in the area I'll avoid it. But it would be nice to try and minimize the damage if I can." Duncan gently caressed Amanda's hair as she rested on his shoulder.

"Oh, Duncan Macleod," Amanda said, dreamily. "Ever the noble hero."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

August 9, 2005: Current Timeline

As he suspected, Duncan found the park devoid of any law enforcement figures. Likely there wouldn't be until the first morning joggers came through here. It gave him the chance to try and clear the area of any evidence before it was too late.

Duncan found a twenty-ounce bottle and filled it with bleach at the hotel. He used it to clean the blood off of the cobblestone pavement. He found the jacket still covering the sword, and cursed the carelessness of the other young immortal. Forensics got better every day at tracking down criminals, even from cases that had been closed for fifty years. Leaving even a hair could make life difficult for their kind half a century down the road.

Duncan took the coat and used it to wrap up the sword. It wouldn't be easy getting into the hotel without someone noticing it, but it was better than leaving it out here where someone could find it. The sword might go for a hefty sum at any pawn shop, but at the same time it could be used to hurt someone. Preventing the loss of innocent lives was worth the risk of suspicion.

As for the body there was little more he could do but hope there wasn't some small detail he overlooked. In messing with the crime scene he'd bought the younger immortal's freedom from persecution, at least for a little while.

When Duncan was finished he took a quick glance around him. The only sound of life was that of a chirping cricket.

Something caught his eye at the other end of the tunnel, and Duncan ran to one side to keep out of sight. Carefully, he edged towards the side and peeked. Someone was using a flashlight and inspecting the inside of the tunnel. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Duncan guessed it was a policeman. But he hadn't heard a vehicle pulling up or the sound of a siren. And what really amazed him, was that when the officer shone the light to see further into the tunnel, the light didn't seem to reach. It was like someone had placed an invisible wall inside the tunnel that-through some strange aberration of physics-didn't allow light to pass through.

Duncan was torn between investigating this phenomena and returning to the hotel. It made matters worse now because if he left the body to be found by police surely the bridge would be sealed off as a crime scene.

When the officer left he considered that it might have just been in his imagination. Duncan rubbed his eyes, noticing that he was tired. He looked down at the young one's body. Amanda was right. This was all a part of the same Game that had been going on since before Methos was born. And Methos was the oldest of them all!

Taking a final glance towards the end of the tunnel, Duncan made a cross over his chest. He whispered a small prayer on behalf of both the loser and the victor of this battle. Then, he returned to the Plaza.

August 9, 2005: Alternate Timeline

Duncan leaned against the railing of his terrace, gazing out at Manhattan from his thirty-second floor apartment. He had a cold beer in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

"Yes, Harvey," he said, when the other party answered. "Don't give me that attitude. You know I don't leave messages. Consider yourself lucky I don't just find another dealer cause after the low ball offer you made me on that Kaiser helmet I'm just about ready to drop you on your arse."

Duncan drained the bottle and flung it out into the air, following it's descent until it smashed into the road. It missed the driver of a beat up Lexus but it came close enough to cause him to jerk the wheel hard to the right. A van that had been close behind him collided into his side hard and fast causing the vehicles to skid to a stop.

"I got a new item you might be interested in," Duncan said, when Harvey was done repenting for the error of his ways. "Infantry army sword, from somewhere in West India, only been used three times. I've cleaned it up and it looks as good as new…no, the police won't find anything…because I took care of it! Look, do you want the sword or not? Fine…fine…my offer is one million dollars hard cash. One million or you lose it Harvey. Glad you see it my way. I'll meet you in the shop tomorrow afternoon."

Duncan pocketed the cell phone and picked up the sword. He admired the craftsmanship of the handle, and the smooth delicacy of the carbon that gave the blade its menacing black shade.

How such a sword ended up in the hands of a pathetically trained junior was an injustice. The fight didn't even last more than a half hour, and when it was over, the boy tried to _reason_ with Duncan. What the hell did he think this was a Saturday afternoon karate class?

Duncan went back into the apartment as EMT's arrived to tend to the victims below. He closed the doors to block out the sounds of the city. On television Jeb Bush was rambling on about the state of the union and other such nonsense. Duncan placed the sword gently on the dinner table and went into the kitchen for another beer.

He was ready to sink into the comfortable easy chair and find a good game, when the buzz kicked in. He placed the bottle on the table and picked up the infantry sword. Perhaps before the night was out it would have the chance for one more real battle.

Duncan opened the door and was quite surprised to find his old friend standing in the doorway.

"Nicholas," Duncan said, smiling, and lowering the sword. "Come on in.

"Hello Duncan." Nicholas Ward entered the apartment. His usually long blond hair was cut short for the times, and his rock star clothing made him look like a David Bowie's missing twin brother.

"What brings you to my humble abode?" Duncan asked exchanging the sword for his beer once more.

Nicholas looked at the sword and sighed.

"A new trophy?" He remarked, ruefully.

"Well, I would have had two," Duncan said. "But some brat grabbed it and took off. You want a beer?"

Nicholas was silent for a while. He shook his head in disgust as he refused the offered beer.

"This has gone too far," he said, fixing Duncan with an angry glare. "Those were just kids out there. Not seasoned immortals."

"What do you care?" Duncan asked. "We both agreed that the Prize was all we were after and nothing else."

"Yeah, back when were killing the ancients like Silas and Kronos that was fine," Nicholas argued. "But we're not even giving these people a chance. They didn't choose this-"

"What's a matter Nicky, a little angst darkening your outlook on life?" Duncan teased. He took a swig of beer before. "Why don't you write a song about it and see if it'll go platinum? I'm sure the next sultry sixteen year-old that comes bopping your way will make you forget your conscience. Just like it made you forget killing Amanda's boyfriend, remember."

Nicholas withdrew his sword and pressed it to Duncan's throat. Duncan made no move to stop him, but made a wry grin as he took another chug of beer.

"This ends now," Nicholas said. "We're gonna go to the roof of the building and finish it there."

Duncan seemed to be considering his proposal. Then, with a swift movement he threw the bottle in Nicholas's face. Nicholas deflected it with his free hand, giving Duncan a chance to duck out of the way and grab the Indian sword. He ran into the living room to grab his katana. When he returned the apartment door was wide open.

Nicholas bolted down the hall and into the emergency exit. He took the stairs two at a time clearing the floors as fast as possible with Duncan not far behind.

Duncan caught up on the thirty-seventh floor. Nicholas spun around and parried the thrust of the katana, only to have to duck to avoid losing his head to the infantry sword. Duncan swung the blades side by side. Nicholas met both blades but was forced onto his back. He kicked desperately with one foot, hitting Duncan in the stomach and forcing him to stumble back. He lost his grip on the infantry sword as he tried to catch himself on the railing. It rattled down the stairs echoing loudly.

Nicholas ran up another floor and opened the fire exit door. He ran to the elevator and frantically pushed the buttons.

Duncan burst from the fire exit. Nicholas spun around and parried Duncan's blade. The two immortals exchanged blows, letting the sound of their weapons clang loudly in the hall. Frightened neighbors opened their doors once before slamming them and calling the police. Duncan's back was to the elevator as the doors opened up. An elderly woman was inside, and she screamed in shock. Thinking quickly, Nicholas parried Duncan's blow and delivered another sharp kick to the stomach, sending Duncan stumbling back into the elevator moments before the door closed.

With the police coming, Duncan wouldn't risk going to the roof. Nicholas sank to his knees, allowing himself a moment to breathe.

"I'm too old for this," he sighed.

The buzz returned suddenly. Nicholas got to his feet and prepared himself for another attack. He was pleasantly surprised to find the second set of elevator doors open, and the short strawberry blonde boy step out.

"Nick!" Richard shouted, rushing to his mentor's side. He held out his hand, exposing the bluish "Y" shaped tattoo on his wrist. "I felt something on the way up. Was that him?"

"Yes," Nicholas replied. He took his student's out reached hand and got to his feet. "We need to leave. This place will be swarming with policeman soon. Head down to the car and be ready to get out of here when I return."

"Why, where are you going?"

Nicholas hit the elevator button again. "I need to get Gavin Platter's sword. Macleod probably has a huge cash deal waiting for it. He won't give it up so easily."

"I should go with you," Richard argued. "You're in no condition to fight him again if he comes back.

The elevator doors opened again, carrying a couple from upstairs who didn't appear to notice them.

"Go!" Nicholas said, in a tone that invited no argument. He shoved Richard into the elevator and didn't take his eyes off of the junior until the doors were closed.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Nicholas went back through the exit and went down the stairs, searching for the infantry sword. He found it on the thirty-fifth floor landing. As he picked it up he felt the buzz.

"So help me Richard," he muttered.

"You're hanging out with Watchers now?" Duncan's voice came from above. He jumped over the railing and landed a few stairs above Nicholas.

Duncan took a swipe with his katana. Nicholas dodged, only seconds from losing his head. He parried several times, dodging as Duncan made several attempts at his head. On Duncan's sixth attempt, Nicholas parried instead of ducking, and thrust the infantry's blade into Duncan's abdomen.

"Ulk," Duncan grabbed the wound and tumbled forward.

Nicholas jumped over the rail, out of his way, and hit the next staircase with a thud. He ran into the thirtieth floor, down the hallway and came to a window overlooking an alley. He caught a glimpse of Richard's Nissan just outside the building, and hoped the boy would be down there by now.

With a deep breath Nicholas took a step back and leapt, smashing through the glass and falling fifty stories down.

* * *

Richard ran out of the lobby, to his car parked beside the building. He opened up the driver's side just in time to see his mentor bounce of a garbage dumpster and hit the ground. He flinched and checked around to see if anyone else had seen it. On the east side of the building police were still investigating the accident and the complaints.

Richard drove into the alley and got out. He opened the back door and picked up the sword first, tucking it in the floor space. Then he lifted his mentor's frail and injured body-wincing as he heard the sound of bones snap and move around-and stuffed it in the back seat.

"You're gonna be hurting from this one," he said, holding back a bit of nausea. This would definitely be a story for the Chronicle.

* * *

August 10, 2005: Current Timeline

"Not a bad collector's piece," Amanda mused. She held the sword in her hand and took a few practice swings. "A bit lighter than what I'm used to, and it's a bit heavy on the back end."

Duncan stood before the mirror, putting his hair in a ponytail.

"We're not keeping it," he said, plainly. "I want to find out who that immortal's Watcher is, if he has one."

"You're not seriously thinking of handing it over to them are you?" she asked, drawing out the sentence seductively and batting her eyes. "Why not just give it to someone you know and love."

"Forget it," Duncan replied. "You'll just sell it to the highest bidder and spend the money on yourself."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

Duncan finished buttoning his shirt and gently approached Amanda from behind. He slipped his arms around her delicate body and gently kissed her neck. Suddenly she forgot the sword and dropped it where she stood. She pulled Duncan down on the bed and they spent the morning in gentle bliss.

Later that afternoon Amanda decided to take in some of the sights. Duncan wrapped the sword in souvenir towels that he purchased in the lobby and placed it in the closet. He made some calls and finally found Joe at the summer home of a family member in Austria. Duncan gave Joe a basic description of the immortals involved in the duel and the swords.

"They sound fairly new to the Game," Joe replied. "Most of the seasoned immortals on file are well documented after their first century."

"Well I had a feeling one of them was new," Duncan replied. "He left the body out in the open for anyone to find. It's a wonder CNN isn't all over the place by now."

"Thank God for good old' human indifference," Joe joked, lightly. "I'll get back to you with those watchers as soon as possible."

"Thank you Joe. Have fun with the family."

Duncan left out the part about the tunnel. He didn't want to trouble Joe with something until he knew all of the facts.

After pulling a windbreaker and his outfit for working out Duncan went jogging through Central Park.

The police had been there early this morning, after a homeless man stumbled across the body. Yellow ribbon was set up all over the area and forensics analysts spent hours trying to find incriminating evidence, which Duncan eliminated most of. Even if they found traces of bleach the best they could come up with was a demented serial killer. And God new how many of those lived in New York.

Duncan was careful to avoid the police and jogged over the bridge. A few reporters were standing by the concrete rail, taking pictures of the murder scene and of the damaged lampposts. Determined to have another look at the tunnel, Duncan jogged a few more laps around the park and stopped for lunch while he waited for the police to finish the investigation.

* * *

August 10, 2005: Alternate Timeline

"Hey. Hey buddy."

Devon moaned and opened his eyes. He was groggy and suffering from a severe case of cottonmouth.

The smell of seawater and the cold breeze of the ocean surprised him for a second. And as the smell of car fumes and exhaust from the boat engines out at sea rushed his senses he remembered where he was. A police officer stood nearby as Devon sat up from the bench he was sleeping on. His hip was sore from where the sword's hilt jabbed into it, but he figured he'd recover.

"Sorry officer," he said, still groggy.

"Sir, do you know it's against the law to sleep on a bench in the state of New York?" The officer asked. His tone wasn't demanding or angry, just brusque.

"I guess I lost track of myself," Devon said, pulling the coat tighter around him. "I had a rough night last night."

"Do you have some ID on you?"

Devon nodded as he went through his pockets for his wallet. Thank God no one had robbed him, he thought. The officer looked at his driver's license for few minutes.

"Well, this checks out." He said, finally. "I'm gonna let you off with a warning. But next time it's a fine of 500 dollars and some jail time."

"Thank you officer," Devon said, stuffing the wallet in his coat pocket.

When he was alone he started walking along the boardwalk. It was a nightmare. It must have been. The quickening gave him a short jolt from reality and he spent the last night stumbling through New York on a hallucinatory adventure.

_Please let that be it, _Devon prayed. His memory went back to a training session with his old mentor, the week before he received his sword.

_They were standing in a field about a mile from Jason's summer house in Vermont. An apple tree nearby was over run with large gypsy moth nests. A deer pranced in the forests nearby and the choir of birds and crickets accentuated the liveliness of the scene. The sound of metal clanging and men grunting with each thrust broke the natural calm._

_Jason Talbot parried Devon's attack and used the momentum to disarm him. He then pressed his blade to Devon's neck._

"_You lose," Jason said, with a triumphant grin._

_Devon returned the grin, but instead of conceiting defeat, he ducked down and rammed his head into Jason's stomach. Jason lost the grip on his own sword and tumbled to the ground. Mentor and teacher playfully wrestled in the wet grass._

_Jason was the better wrestler of the two, having claimed the title at the UVM back in 1932. But he allowed Devon to pin him down once or twice, building the boy's confidence._

"_It won't always be this easy," Jason said when he gave in again. _

_Devon got up and held his hand out to Jason._

"_What do you mean easy? I whipped you good."_

_Jason raised an eyebrow. Then he grabbed Devon's hand and pulled him down, pinning his student on his stomach, and twisting his arm around his back._

"_You're confidence can be your undoing," he said. "There are others out there who will let you have the upper hand, if only to find out what you're real strengths are. Then they pull out their real strengths and soon you're missing a head."_

_Jason didn't let go until he saw Devon understood. Then he stood up while Devon rolled onto his back. Jason held out his hand and received an unexpected shock Devon sat up and pulled his leg out from under him. Startled, Jason sat up and found the blade of Devon's sword pressed to _his _neck._

"_I think I'm learning quickly," Devon said with a smirk._

"_Good job," Jason replied, genuinely surprised. He pushed the blade away from him and the two got up. "Why don't we break for a little lunch now?"_

_Devon nodded eagerly as he sheathed his sword. Then a thought came to him._

"_If I took your head- not saying I would but if I did-would I become a champion college wrestler?"_

"_You might. You'd have my memories and the know-how at least. But knowledge itself isn't power."_

_Jason put his arm around his student's shoulder as the two walked back towards the house._

"_Don't be so eager to win battles," he went on. "The real winner in the Game won't be the one with a thousand heads to his name. It'll be the one who chooses his battles carefully. You'll be just as good a fighter if you avoid taking your opponent's head."_

"_But what about the quickening?" Devon pressed. "Do you really get all of the other guy's knowledge and memories?"_

"_Some of them," Jason answered. "I doubt you'd get all of them. And in either case knowledge doesn't equal power. But I can tell you this, there are quickenings that will change you drastically if temporarily. They make you see and do things you wouldn't ordinarily, evil things."_

Well, as far as Devon could tell he hadn't done anything remotely evil. Unless stealing the sword of his dead counterpart was considered a big enough sin. Come to think about it-

Devon checked his sides. Both swords were dangling from where he left them. His heart sank as he also saw the World Trade Center where it had always been. Seeing it was a mixture of a joy and sadness. Joy because he knew people who had died that day, and the possibility that they were alive and well now made him happier. But sad because he also knew that whatever did or didn't happen in this world was meant to happen in his, and that it wasn't natural to remain here any longer.

Devon went to a diner for some breakfast. Once he had warm food in his system and a few cups of coffee to awaken his clouded thoughts, he came to a few conclusions, which he jotted down on a napkin with a pencil he borrowed from the waitress;

1: Gavin's Quickening

Devon's (mine?) Quickening

Connection?

2 : Twin Towers exist in this place. Am I in an alternate universe? Was it the quickening that triggered it?

3: Who do I know here? Who can help me? How did I get here in the first place?

4: Did Xavier St. Cloud kill Jason in this world like he did in mine?


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: I would like to thank Violet for her reviews. I'm not going to reveal anything about the rules of this alternate timeline so far, but rest assured it won't be long before Duncan and Evil Duncan meet up.

I toiled over whether or not to add a song to underscore the battle between Methos and Evil Duncan, but then I realized that this chapter is all ready a little longer with the flashback without adding the song to it.

Anyway, I know some people like to indicate flashbacks with a year and a place, but I decided not to bother with that in this story. I feel writing the entire flashback in italics is more than enough, especially after the character indicates that he is remembering the flashback. Tell me what you think though.

**Chapter Four**

He was immune to every illness known to mankind. He could recover from the most devastating of injuries. But for crying out loud, why did he still have this pounding headache?

Nicholas contemplated that perky sense of humor that only God Himself possessed, as he massaged the temples of his forehead on the way from the guest room to Horton's office. They were in the New York based motherhouse of the Watchers Society, an ancient and hidden league of people dedicated to preserving and studying the history of immortals. The house itself was a mansion that had been built in the early days of the Revolutionary War. As he approached the office, Nicholas felt the buzz, indicating that Richard was all ready hard at work, chronicling the events of the previous night.

"Good morning Nicholas," Horton greeted him as he entered. "Care for a little breakfast?"

James Horton's office was more like a small apartment than a workspace. There were three large mahogany desks. One belonged to James, and the other two belonged to his two apprentices. Richard was at his desk pounding away at the keyboard of his laptop with a plate full of toast, miniature muffins and donuts, and a large glass of pomegranate juice. James sat a small breakfast table, reading a pamphlet full of news articles from various sources. A hot pot of tea sat in the center and an empty plate in front of him. Nicholas gratefully helped himself to a cup of tea and asked the maid for some aspirin.

"I see you keep my student well fed," he said.

James looked up from his reading.

"Well, he does earn his keep. Even after last night's disappointment I trust him more than I trust you."

"Oh, not this again."

"I'm risking my career and my life doing this," Horton reminded him. "Does it ever occur to you that I hate this course of events as much as you do? But I don't leave tasks unfinished, no matter how unpleasant."

"I couldn't kill Macleod there," Nicholas said, trying to keep his calm. "There were too many witnesses who saw us fighting. And in any case the quickening would have drawn way too much attention."

Richard looked up from his work. "Can I just say something?"

Horton looked at him.

"A lack of permission has never been your problem." He pointed out.

"Funny. Look, we're forgetting a few things here. Nick, you've had this pact with Duncan ever since your days as The Vampire, right?"

"Don't remind me."

"Well, you just betrayed him. And from what I've read, Duncan Macleod is not someone who takes betrayal lightly. Not to mention that you took his sword, which he probably had ready to sell to a buyer all ready."

"An excellent point," Horton said. "But how do we exploit this knowledge? We've all ready tried luring Macleod with his greed before. It cost us one of our most powerful allies as you recall."

_Warehouse security had been relatively easy to take out. Duncan thought it to be rather easy, but it didn't bother him where the object of his mission was concerned. There were rows and rows of variously colored metal containers stacked at least several feet high, all unmarked. It was a clever rouse specifically meant to dissuade thieves._

_Red, Blue, Orange, Yellow, Blue, Blue, Red…Duncan followed the pattern along the second row from the top. Red, Blue, Orange, Blue, Blue, Red, Blue, Blue-aha!_

_Duncan brought a rope and a grappling hook. He was skilled in its use having been taught under the guidance of a Ninja master in 1779. The hook hit its mark, two or three stacks above his target, and he began climbing the moment when he was sure the rope was taut. _

_It was a simple matter of prying the box open with a crowbar and some elbow grease. Duncan flicked on a flashlight and shone it inside. The container was empty accept for an object covered by a tarp in the back. He found it easy to crawl in and get to the object._

_Duncan's heart pounded with excitement and the welcome feeling of a job well done washed over him. Already he began to count the enormous figures that would be wired into his account when the job was over. He gently removed the tarp and found nothing but a few carefully stacked cinderblocks. A Christmas card with a picture of the Three Wise Men following the star of Bethlehem was crammed into the hole of the top cinder block._

"_What the hell is this?" Duncan unfolded the card and read:_

_Sorry for the rouse my friend. If we'd met under different circumstances you might find this even funnier than I do right now, but alas that can't be so._

_Signed, the Fourth Wiseman_

_It was then that Duncan felt the buzz. He returned to the entrance of the container and looked out into the warehouse. Someone was nearby, but not in plain sight. Duncan climbed back to the ground and swiftly drew his katana._

"_Show yourself," he called out. _

_Duncan looked behind and in front of him, stalking slowly towards the entrance. Then, someone stepped out from behind one of the boxes, blocking his retreat. The warehouse doors were wide open and bright lights flooded the building. Duncan winced but held his ground as the immortal came closer._

_He was dressed mostly in black accept for the green trench coat. He had feathery brown hair and an angular face accentuated by bright brown eyes. He held his sword out in challenge, but his demeanor was confident and cool, like old rivals meeting on a football field for a friendly match. Duncan wasn't deceived._

"_So, the legend really does exist," he said, making his stance. "You know there never was a fourth horseman."_

"_That's one version of events," Methos responded, grinning. "I remember them quite differently."_

"_You know I have a bust that once belonged to you," Duncan said. "It's over three thousand years old and worth a fortune in its current condition. What do you say I let you have it and we call this a night."_

"_That's not quite what I'm here for," Methos said. "Right now nothing more than an ice cold beer from some European brewery would make me happy. And I have plenty of friends who'll lend me one of those. More friends than you'll ever have I imagine."_

_Duncan snorted._

"_Maybe I was wrong," he said, with a laugh. "No one who has lived as long as they say you have would attach himself to these children. They're young and supple one minute and then worm food the next."_

"_Well then, you'll have something in common with them."_

_Duncan charged. Methos ran to meet him and the blades rang. They were evenly matched at first, but Methos changed his tactics frequently, forcing Duncan to rethink his own moves as he went along. Whatever attack he came up with Methos had the defense for, and never once did the older man lose his footing, forcing Duncan to fall back a few times. Finally Duncan changed tactics and ran._

_Methos followed close behind. Duncan grabbed his rope and climbed back up to the open crate. He then cut the rope to keep Methos from following and he began to climb up to the top most stacks. _

_Methos sheathed his sword and climbed up the hard way, gripping the metal scaffolding and pulling himself up._

"_You owe me a round for this one James," he groaned as he cautiously looked over the top. There was plenty of room to move around but Duncan was scarce. Methos glanced back at the ground floor to see if Duncan might have made another run for the entrance. But his instructions were for someone to honk the horn if he tried to escape._

_Methos got to his feet again and surveyed the area. There were a few small gaps between the boxes and he took a cautious glance down each one before jumping to the next one. He drew his sword again and listened for the sound of another breathing body. He didn't have to wait long. Duncan jumped out from beneath a set of boxes and swiped, missing Methos' spine by a few inches. Methos swung upwards and gave Duncan a flesh wound across the stomach._

"_Maybe I should challenge you when you're toilet trained?" Methos taunted as he parried Duncan's blade. "You know you're practically a fetus."_

"_And you're just aged to perfection aren't you?" Duncan retorted jumping over to the next box to avoid Methos' attack._

_The sound of metal against metal echoed against the walls of the warehouse. Methos continued to force Duncan to boxes in the center. Duncan caught the blade of Methos' sword and forced it over to the side, taking control of his opponent's center. Methos tripped into an opening between two boxes and grabbed the next box over to keep from falling under. His sword clattered against the titanium mesh that supported the weight of the boxes. Duncan made a swipe for his head and Methos grabbed his ankle, dropping the rest of the way down. Duncan screamed in pain as Methos weight snapped his ankle and he fell on his back, losing his sword temporarily. Methos let go of his ankle and hit the mesh. He grabbed his sword and ran between the boxes while Duncan pulled himself back up and picked up his katana. He lay there for a few agonizing moments while the quickening healed his ankle._

_Methos climbed back up to a box on the farthest side of the scaffold. Duncan got to his feet, seething. This was personal now._

_Duncan charged. Methos twirled the sword in his hand for show and parried Duncan's thrust with expert speed and skill. He thrust and Duncan parried, Duncan swung and Methos caught the blade, turning the momentum against his opponent._

_Methos gave Duncan a wide berth, careful to avoid falling over the ledge. Not that it would kill him permanently, but he couldn't guarantee he'd wake up again._

"_Why?" Duncan asked._

"_Why what?"_

"_The tattoo on your wrist, I know who they are. Why do you work for them?"_

"_Some of us have histories we'd rather they not know about," Methos said, circling as Duncan did. "At least one of us needs to be in there to keep them from finding out everything."_

"_They should all be killed," Duncan said. "I could have so much more respect for you if you didn't work for them."_

"_And I could have more respect for you…if you were less of an idiot."_

_Duncan rushed. Methos parried Duncan's sword, and bent his back and used his leg as leverage. Duncan's speed and weight turned against him and he flew over Methos and fell to the ground twenty feet below. The resulting impact and the loud crunch ensured Methos that half of his job was done. Now it was time to get down there and finish it._

_A few men approached Duncan's body armed with guns incase he should wake again. They wanted this over once and for all. Methos made his way down the scaffolding and finally jumped the last few feet to the floor_

"_Thanks for your help gentlemen," Methos said, pulling his sword out and getting ready for the final blow. "But as you can see we're about to wrap this up quite nicely."_

_A shot was fired. A man went down. Methos looked up confused as two more men went down. The last man waved his gun in all directions frantically trying to find the shooter. Methos saw a red dot flash on the man's forehead._

"_Get down!"_

_But it was too late. The man had a third eye before he had a chance to move._

_Methos made a move to find cover but not before a bullet caught his left leg, forcing him down. A second bullet took out his shoulder and his sword went flying. Duncan woke up, pleased to see Methos on the ground and unarmed._

"_On a scale of one to ten," Duncan said, getting to his feet and picking up his katana. "How stupid do you think I am Methos? Do you think I haven't always known you were with the Watchers?"_

_Before the quickening could totally heal Methos' bullet wounds could heal Duncan positioned himself over his body._

"_You will die," Methos promised, drawing his final breaths._

"_Too bad you won't be there to see it." Duncan responded before beheading Methos._

_The sound of gunfire outside the warehouse was drowned out as he absorbed the quickening of the oldest living immortal._

Nicholas shuttered as the memory faded back into the recesses of his mind. Though he wasn't present for the event, Duncan never tired of bragging about what he called his "greatest kill ever".

"Duncan won't be lured again," He said. "He's far too smart to fall for that trap again."

"Well maybe it is," Richard argued.

The maid returned with a glass of water and some pills for Nicholas. Another maid came in with a hot pan full of bacon, which she offered to James and Nicholas.

"Oh, thank you," Richard jumped up and helped himself to a handful of bacon. The maid looked at him with silent disgust while he wolfed down a few pieces at a time. James helped himself to a few pieces and Nicholas declined.

When the maid left Richard continued to speak with a mouthful of bacon stuffed to once side of his cheeks.

"That time you tried fooling him with a patsy. This time he won't fall for it unless he knows it's going to be the real deal." Richard swallowed and went to his desk to finish his pomegranate juice. "I say we set the bait up in a museum. You know, drop some expensive item of ours that the every billionaire in the world would sell his own mother's lungs for. Macleod won't resist it."

"And a deer might not resist a salt lick," Horton pointed out. He got up and offered a napkin to Richard. "But once it hears the click of a gun barrel it's libel to run off just as quickly. If Macleod senses another immortal in the area he'll avoid it all together, and before he even considers the target he'll have his employees check out the area."

Richard wiped his mouth off and sat back down.

"Well it was just a suggestion," he muttered.

"Not that we don't appreciate it," Horton remarked over his shoulder. "Now Nicholas, try to remember, the ice you're on is just barely getting strong enough to support your weight. If you want to redeem yourself fully than Macleod's head is the only way to do it."

Nicholas swallowed the pills and drank the water. So far he couldn't tell if they were doing him any good. A stiff drink might have helped.

"Then perhaps its time to play by his rules," he thought out loud.

"What do you mean?" Horton asked.

"Duncan doesn't play fair. We've seen that with Methos and with countless other immortals," Nicholas explained. "He battles the juniors and has a sniper waiting for the ones he finds he can't handle. Maybe it's time we broke the rules."

"A wise notion," Horton said. "You realize I would be hard pressed to explain myself to the counsel for interfering this much."

"Uh…James…" Richard spoke up. "At least two immortals have worked for the Watchers Society, including me. I'd say we've broken-"

"Do you want to pull landscaping duty for a second time?" Horton asked, raising his voice slightly.

Richard gulped and went back to finishing his work.

"It's the only thing I can think of." Nicholas said, defensively. "I don't like the idea any more than you do and it'll make me a marked man among my kind. But we're all agreed that Duncan must die, or the prize will undoubtedly fall in his own hands."

Horton sighed. He picked up a piece of toast and began to butter it while he thought.

"I will spare three snipers." He said finally. "Only three. Chose the location and I will position them."

Nicholas nodded in agreement. "I believe it is time Duncan and I met on Holy Ground. Richard?"

Richard looked up.

"When you're done with your report come and find me. I'm going to see that you work off those extra calories."


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Harvey took his third shot of vodka that morning. Drops of the alcohol splattered on the glass display case that doubled as his counter. Inside the shop the air was stale and humid. Streams of sunlight poured in through the door window flooding the old gray carpet. The place was a fire hazard. One entrance and one exit, and his entire inventory hung from the racks, or graced the display case. He had a tiny refrigerator off to the side but it had been broken for years, and wouldn't keep a woolly mammoth cold. There was no bathroom. You had to go that badly you locked the door and put up the "closed till" sign while looking for an empty bottle of booze. At the very least that discouraged people from trying to steal your liquor.

Business wasn't bad, when it was his usual dealings. Stolen watches, purses, and anything else he could get for cheap off the streets. He kept a loaded rifle behind the counter and a cell phone fully charged, so if you didn't like his offer the cops might. On an average week he could pull in just enough to pay the rent, sometimes more.

Then, over a drink at a bar, a friend told him of the latest fad to hit New York; swords. Yeah, big sharp medieval swords and battle axes and anything else that could send your head rolling. Apparently there was a huge market for them in this city. You could buy your ticket out of here with a few good sales.

Well, who could argue with that? Harvey sure as hell couldn't. So he invests in this neat little piece that his friend came across twenty years ago. French military issue, sword from about the year of Napolean's reign. Belonged to a ship captain who was killed by the British in the War of 1812.

Oh, what the hell? Harvey thought. I may never make a dime on it but at the very least it'd make a beautiful discussion piece.

So it sat there on a shelf on the wall of his shop. No more than a week went by and he was sure it was going to collect enough dust to fill the Grand Canyon. But then a buyer came in. Nothing to remarkable about the guy, and he seemed rather polite and clean cut for someone who would come to his shop. Four hundred thousand dollars cash! Straight up! If Harvey had been about a few decades older he'd have had a heart attack. Cash from a legitimate source! Who'd have figured it? Never had a customer been so eager to open up an account at the local Hammer & Rhodes bank!

So maybe his friend was right, he figured. And he went to town trying to buy up as many collectible swords and other ancient weapons as he could find. Soon word got out and Harvey Campbell gained a reputation as having the hottest sword shop around.

That was a year ago. A decent apartment and food in his stomach was what kept him from buying a better location for his shop. But he figured if he did business kept doing this well, pretty soon he could hire someone else to run the shop, and put a down payment on a beautiful townhouse in upper Manhattan.

But oh, if Duncan Macleod had never walked into his shop…if Harvey Campbell had never once heard the word "immortal" in his life. Who knew that the men and women who purchased his wares were then taking them to the streets in some never ending war?

Macleod was a totally different story though. Harvey was turning up so good a profit that Macleod actually wanted in on the action. So after taking the head of one of his opponents, Duncan would "sell" Harvey the loser's sword. Harvey was nervous at first, because they came to him bloody, and all the cops needed were a drop. Duncan agreed to bleaching the swords first, but it would cost a few extra thousand. To avoid being an accessory to murder Harvey guessed it was a fair price. Besides, the alternative was losing his own head.

The door flung open. Harvey jumped and grabbed for the rifle.

"It won't do you any good," Duncan said. His tone was soft but his face was poisonous. "Unless you want the cops to come after all."

Harvey lowered the gun and went for the bottle again. Duncan snatched it up and took a huge draught.

"The cops were all over here asking about you," Harvey said, accusingly. "Do you know how they traced you back to me?"

"Not a clue," Duncan answered, slamming the bottle down on the counter and wiping his mouth. "I hear Crime Stoppers offers a pretty heavy reward to anyone with information. I'm sure we just have some watchful people in the neighborhood."

"So where's the sword?"

"I thought I'd leave it with a friend." Duncan took another swig of vodka. "How'd you like to earn some cash this time?"

Harvey wiped some sweat from his forehead. "What are you talking about? I can't afford another screw up like this. Do you know what the penalty for accessory to murder is in this state?"

"I believe it's the death penalty. But if you get yourself to Canada after this job you shouldn't have to worry about it."

"Canada!" Harvey threw up his hands. "What the hell am I going to do in Canada?"

"It's a solution," Duncan said, trying to keep his cool. "Do you want to earn the cash or what?"

Harvey went into his refrigerator and pulled out a small bottle of brandy. He guzzled it for a while, ignoring the warm bitter taste and the burn on his throat. Duncan snatched the bottle again before he emptied it.

"I'll need you sober for this," he said sternly. "Or I'll just clue the cops in now and find someone who'll help me for cheaper."

Nausea swirled around in Harvey's stomach for a second. He wondered if he'd puke or pass out, and he honestly didn't care which at this point.

"How much?" He said, with a burp.

* * *

August 10, 2005: Current Timeline

At last the police left the scene, having found all they were going to find. The remaining officers questioned the homeless who frequented the area, and anyone else who might have heard something. But all in all it was a fruitless investigation that was probably going to get filed away in the back of some obscurely labeled drawer. One in a thousand murders that occurred in New York City, and unless the family hired a private investigator it was likely going to get incinerated. Not all crimes in New York were investigated as rigorously or with as much dedication as Law and Order and CSI would have the general public believe.

Yellow tape remained but there would likely be no more police investigations that day. Duncan watched from a distance with binoculars just to be sure. Anyone who saw him would think he just was bird watching.

When the bridge was clear Duncan made his way for it. His sword was tucked beneath his trench coat ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. No one was near the tunnel and fortunately no one was on top of the bridge either.

Duncan was careful not to disturb the chalk lining where the body had been found. He entered the tunnel, glancing behind him to make sure no one noticed. It was a wonder the police didn't spend more time examining the tunnel. The stones on the ground and the arch were scored with electrical burns. At a first glance there was nothing unusual about them, but when Duncan held his hand over any one of the stones he felt a faint energy pulsing from it.

Duncan gazed at the end of the tunnel. Something was different at the end of it, and he couldn't explain what it was. As he approached the other side he felt as though he were passing through something…an energy field of some kind. But when he stepped out at the other end of the tunnel he felt nothing else out of the ordinary.

He stepped out into the warm sunlight and looked around. Same luscious and green Central Park with hot dog vendors, children flying kites, elderly couples out for a stroll, and bikers out for their exercise. And in the city it was the same towering skyscrapers and business offices, and busy traffic and pedestrians rushing to get nowhere fast. Perhaps he really was being paranoid.

Duncan took a few steps from the tunnel when something caught his eye. A gentleman was walking his dog down the cobble road. The dog stopped by an apple tree to attend to business, and Duncan caught a glimpse of a pin on the man's lapel.

It was the World Trade Center painted gold and silver with the words: Thirty-Year Anniversary-2003.

A choir of questions arose and Duncan set about to answer them.


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: Whew, sorry for this chapter being a day late. Had to do some "office work". Long story.

**Chapter Six**

August 10, 2005 Alternate Timeline

Nicholas was never big on prayer. He didn't believe in God much in his pre-immortal life, in spite of growing up in a largely church controlled time, and he didn't believe in it when a startled ox impaled him that fateful day.

On that matter, Holy Ground was an entirely different concept from God, he figured. Millenniums ago immortals decided to make any place mortals considered sacred a neutral ground. It made sense considering immortality was a big secret, and almost 80 of the mortal world congregated to these places every week or so. But if Nicholas ever believed that God existed he didn't believe the Almighty Creator would find a single church any more significant than another.

Fortunately Nicholas didn't find this particular church significant either. It was empty for the evening, with the Cardinal holed up in his office. After five minutes, which Nicholas spent pretending to be fascinated by a painting of St. Anthony, his radar was triggered. The mahogany doors creaked open and moments later Duncan approached the altar and knelt.

"So where's the sword?" Duncan asked, fixing his attention on Jesus.

"It's safe," Nicholas answered. He stood beside Duncan but didn't kneel. "I'm surprised you didn't just move on to another easy target."

"Persistence is one of my defining traits you'll recall."

"Along with pettiness?"

"Pfft, look whose talking," Duncan looked up. "Who was it who drove a stake into that doctor after your vampire legend went too far? I remember how much you taunted him and how sore you were because your clever scheme had come to an end."

"Well perhaps you're right. Perhaps this is all just mild pettiness on my part and I just want to finish it off. The Prize will be that much easier to obtain when you're out of the way."

Duncan smirked. Nicholas held back his own grin, watching as his old partner took the bait.

"Well, if that's how you want to end this," Duncan said, standing up and reaching into his jacket. He pulled back his coat just enough to reveal the hilt of the katana.

"Not here," Nicholas said, calmly. "We're on Holy Ground."

"Oh, right, the rules." Duncan slapped his forehead mockingly. "Yeah, those accursed rules that tell us we can't fight on Holy Ground."

The doors swung open and Harvey swaggered in with a handgun cocked and ready.

"The rules only say _we_ can't fight," Duncan pointed out. "Nothing in the rules says a mortal can't shoot you on Holy Ground. Put your hands up, now!"

Nicholas did as requested as Duncan searched him for his own sword. While Duncan and Harvey were preoccupied, the two immortals felt a second buzz. Duncan looked at Nicholas, who simply smirked. Before either one could say anything, Harvey let out a low squeal. Richard's sword was pressed against his throat while he used his other hand to liberate Harvey's rifle.

"Now it seems we're on the reverse," Nicholas sneered. "Like you said Duncan, the rules don't prevent Richie from giving your friend an extra hole to breathe from."

Duncan was visibly surprised. But he shook it off and laughed.

"So, that's your student?" He said, sizing Richard up. "I notice he's on the Watcher's payroll too. What, did equal opportunity employment get in the way of that whole 'we don't interfere' policy? Maybe I should apply once I lop _your_ heads off."

"Hey, Nick," Richard spoke up. "Was he always this funny or is he just covering up his insecurities?"

"I think it's the latter," Nicholas said with a light smirk.

Duncan drew his sword and held it inches from Nicholas' neck.

"Your teacher dies if you don't let Harvey go," he warned Richard.

"And if you take Nicholas' head I'll kill you during the quickening," Richard responded. "You're not the only one who can break rules."

Duncan nodded with approval.

"Clever boy. If things had been different you might have been my student."

"And if the Red Socks won the World Series I'd be rolling in cash."

Richard cut Harvey's throat just enough to draw blood.

"What's it gonna be Macleod, your way or mine?" Nicholas asked, slowly stepping off to the side while reaching into his own jacket. "At least my way you can say you won fairly."

"And since when were you happy with fair?"

"Answer me."

Duncan looked from Nicholas to Richard and back. Finally he sheathed his sword and Richard let Harvey go.

"Run off and I'll give your name to the cops," Duncan warned Harvey. To Nicholas he said, "Name your terms. But I'll have your head either way so it won't matter."

"You and me at this location," Nicholas removed a piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Duncan. "Just you and me and no one else."

Duncan read the location and pocketed it for later. He had a wry grin as he shook his head pityingly.

"I'll really miss you old friend," he said. "Maybe I should leave Richie here alive so he can finish writing your chronicle."

With that Duncan swaggered past Richard with a glance that seemed to say, "I'm ready for you anytime". Harvey grabbed his rifle and was stumbled once as he bolted from the church.

Richard wiped some sweat from his brow and looked at his mentor.

"That was a close one Nick," he said. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Not at all," Nicholas said, with a grim chuckle. "But I never let that stop me before."

Devon looked up at the apartment building. It was the same one Jason had taken him to on many occasions. Adrenaline fed his blood stream leaving a nauseous feeling in his stomach, as if stage fright were ready to overtake him.

Swallowing once he entered the lobby and stepped onto the elevator. A feeling of dejavu over came him, like the first time Jason took him up here.

_The elevator was empty this late at night._

Thank God, _Jason thought. He gently led a frightened Devon onto the car._

"_It'll be all right," he tried to reassure him. "You can stay here for the night while we figure this out."_

_Devon was just barely nineteen when the car hit him. It was a classic hit and run right outside the parking lot of the grocery store. A trick of luck allowed Jason to get to him just as he drew his first breath._

_Jason's apartment wasn't huge. It was just barely large enough for the cramped space between the kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom to be considered a living room. The couch and the television took up most of the floor._

"_I know it's kind of cramped," Jason said apologetically. "But I only live here about six months of the year. Are you hungry?"_

_Devon just starred. He touched his blood soaked shirt and felt his ribs, which only a half hour earlier had the consistency of dry crackers. Surprised he pulled his shirt up a few inches and found that there wasn't even a bruise._

"_They cleared up on the ride over," Jason explained. "Wait here."_

_Jason went into the kitchen and returned with a stake knife. Devon made a move for the door, but Jason blocked him._

"_What do you want with me?" Devon asked slowly backing away from Jason._

"_You're a bit rattled to deal with a full demonstration," Jason said. "But this will do for now."_

_Jason made a cut in his hand and held it out. Blood sprayed and gushed like water from a bursting pipe. Devon watched in terror. But soon terror was replaced by curiosity as bolts of electricity lanced across the wound. In seconds the cut was gone and the bleeding stopped._

"_What's your name?" Jason asked._

"_Devon…"_

"_Well Devon, you are one of us now. You will never grow old, never get sick or permanently injured, and you will never die. Even if you are killed you will come back to life."_

"_What am I?"_

"_You are an Immortal."_

_Jason removed a sword from beneath his over coat and brandished it._

"_You will need to learn how to fight with this. For as long as you live others like us, who have been around for longer than you can imagine will challenge you for your head."_

As the number fifteen clicked on the indicator, Devon felt the same sense of relief coming to him. Jason would make it all better if he was here, just like he made it better back then.

He stepped off the elevator and found Jason's apartment. At first he didn't sense the buzz, but then he remembered that Jason usually went to Vermont in the summer. Still, just to be certain, Devon turned the corner and saw something that shocked him.

The door to his mentor's apartment was blocked off by police tape. Someone stepped out of their own apartment.

"Excuse me," he said to the tenant. "I'm looking for a man who lived in that apartment. Would you happen to know where he is?"

The man frowned.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this," he said. "But the man who lived in that apartment was murdered last week. The police are still investigating it."

Devon felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. The tenant went about his own business while Devon tried to stop himself from collapsing. Maybe it wasn't Jason. Maybe Jason didn't even live in New York in this reality. Something occurred to him and he went back to the elevator. The man was waiting by the elevator.

"Excuse me again," Devon said. "But do you know how the man was murdered?"

The man shook his head.

"There was a story about it in the paper. All I remember is that the electricity in the building was screwing up badly that night. All of the fixtures out here in the hall blew out and the elevator was stopped for hours. There was glass everywhere."

The elevator doors opened again but Devon wasn't ready to leave yet. When he was alone he began to cry. He backed into the wall and slowly slid down, sobbing as quietly as he could unable to suppress it any longer. More than ever now he wanted to get back to his own reality.

As he tried to piece together the differences between this and his own world, Duncan considered going back to his own reality and tracking down Joe or Methos. One of them had to have an explanation for what was going on here. The Twin Towers weren't the only things that happened differently in this timeline. For one thing, Puerto Rico was officially the 50th state, and Hawaii was owned by the Japanese. The United Kingdom now consisted entirely of England and Scotland, with the land where Ireland and Wales were supposed to be belonging to one or the other. The news archives in the library revealed that John F. Kennedy's assassination wasn't a success, and that the Vietnam Conflict actually continued for another four years after it was supposed to end.

Duncan's head reeled with the new information. It would have taken a lifetime to discover all that was different in this world.

As he left the library, at a loss of what else he could do, Duncan briefly thought he should return to his own timeline. There was no telling how long that gateway would be open, but what if it didn't close at all? What would prevent people from walking in and out of their own dimensions? Utter chaos would ensue and the natural balance of the world would be terribly upset.

Duncan took a turn towards Central Park when the buzz hit him. Instinctively he stopped and looked. There, standing across the street from him was the blond haired immortal from the park. He was in terrible shape and he seemed frightened as they locked eyes.

* * *

The boy ran. Duncan bolted across the street, stopping only to avoid being run over. He chased the boy across several blocks, careful to avoid bumping into someone.

"Wait!" He shouted. "Wait up! I just want to speak to you!"

The boy took a turn down the alley. When Duncan finally caught up he was nowhere in sight. There was a fence, but even if the boy was a skilled athlete he couldn't have climbed it and cleared the rest of the alley _that_ fast. Then he saw a glimpse of the boy's coat from behind a dumpster.

Duncan slowly entered the alley, pretending not to even look at the dumpster. As expected, when he got closer the boy jumped out, swinging his sword. Duncan whipped out his katana and assumed the defensive position. The boy was fast and they exchanged blows as they circled one another. Duncan held the sword blade down as he parried the boy's attack. He then reached out with one arm and grabbed the boy's wrist, twisting it once. The boy dropped the sword.

"I am-"

"I know who you are," The boy said, angrily. "Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod. You told me once before remember?"

"What?" Duncan asked, confused.

"Don't you remember at the park? You jumped out of nowhere and challenged me and Gavin."

Duncan let the boy go.

"That wasn't me," he said.

"Oh right," the boy replied, sarcastically. "Who was it, your evil twin?"

The boy reached into his coat and pulled out a sword identical to the one on the ground. He raised it in challenge.

"You promised we'd meet again."

Duncan put up his blade in defense. The boy swiped from side to side, and Duncan did a back flip out of the way. The boy swung again and Duncan parried. On the boy's second attack Duncan caught the blade with his own and disarmed him again. This time he brought the blade to the boy's neck, stopping before it was too late.

"It was you who killed him." The boy accused.

"Killed who!" Duncan snapped.

"My mentor, Jason Talbot!"

Duncan lowered his blade, slowly this time.

"Jason Talbot was killed by Xavier St. Cloud." He said, calmer.

The boy's mouth dropped for a second before realization hit him.

"You're the Duncan from _my _dimension!"

"Yes!" Duncan said with a frustrated sigh. He sheathed his katana and picked up the boy's sword. "And you are?"

"Devon."

"All right Devon, tell me what happened before you ended up here."

Devon explained everything. From finishing the battle with Gavin up until a few moments ago, when he discovered that Jason had been murdered in this dimension as well as his own. While he spoke Duncan retrieved both swords and held them side by side. Other than a few nicks on the blades they were almost completely identical.

"I guess he just doesn't have that much luck," he said, sardonically. "Jason was the closest thing to a father I ever had."

Duncan understood completely. Connor was almost like a father to him, and he was certain he had been like a father to Richard.

"It's the way of our kind," was all he could think of to say. "Jason knew it as well as anyone."

Devon sheathed the swords.

"Did you know him?" He asked as they returned to the street.

"I never met him personally," Duncan explained. "A watcher told me when he was killed. And a few weeks later I killed Xavier personally."

"I owe you one then," Devon said, sincerely.

"You don't owe me anything. What I did was to preserve the rules, not avenge someone."

It was a pleasant sixty-five degrees, but Devon felt a chill anyway.

"What do we do now?" He asked.

"First we need to be sure no one else can go through that gateway," Duncan said. "Then we need to find a way to close it."


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: OY, this chapter is not the best I could have done. But I've been so stressed out with extra work and some changes at the places I'm living at that I've found it difficult to keep up with projects.

Sorry for the delay and the crappiness of the chapter.

**Chapter Seven**

Duncan knelt over the space approximately where Devon's double died. It was further from the tunnel than Gavin's body had been but there was still significant damage along the ground and the inside of the tunnel.

It was dark accept for the lampposts on the bridge. But it didn't matter what dimension he was in, Devon still didn't like Central Park at night.

"Gavin's double was standing about here," Devon explained, more out of nerves than out of a genuine need. "I-well, my body-was laying there. We didn't get much more than a few words out before you-, I mean your double-showed up."

"Well, this is what I can put together," Duncan said. "It seems that your quickening happened at exactly the same time that Gavin's did. They must have locked onto one another and that's why the doorway is open."

"But why just now? There must be hundreds of duels going on every day and people losing their heads all the time. How come other quickenings don't trigger doorways into parallel universes?"

"It's a good question," Duncan said. "Perhaps they do and we just don't know about it. Or perhaps the nature of your quickening is the key factor. In a sense, you and Gavin _both _died at the same time you won. The universe works in tricky ways."

"So if a quickening opened the door…" Devon looked back down the tunnel.

Duncan stood up.

"Then a quickening will probably close it," he finished. "The question is whose quickening is it going to be?"

August 11, 2005: Alternate Timeline

Nicholas spent the last hour and a half driving on the New Jersey turnpike with Richard sharing his opinions on the up coming battle.

"I have a really bad feeling about this."

"So you've been telling me," Nicholas replied.

"Look, Nick, I just don't think we're thinking everything out," Richard went on. "He's not stupid; you know that better than anyone. He's seen the bear trap and he probably has it tripped all ready."

"Horton's been teaching you the art of analogy I see." Nicholas idly went through the tapes in his caddy and popped in the first thing he could find.

Richard seemed to take the hint as the Billy Idol's Rebel Yell filled the car, drowning out any sound of coherent thought. Nicholas loved the boy dearly, but he needed his concentration.

It was true, Duncan was a powerful immortal. In one hundred years alone he had collected more heads than any immortal five times their age. At first it was real simple. He and Nicholas worked on the streets of London and the rest of the UK, taking out new immortals before they had a chance to find mentors. Whenever they ran into immortals who were older than they were, Nicholas or Duncan would wait in the shadows while the other dueled. Then when at a critical moment the one hiding would shoot the enemy immortal from behind, leaving them vulnerable.

But one thing Horton, Richard and the others forgot was that Nicholas had done quite a bit of collecting himself. In fact by the time he met Rebecca Horne in battle was his greatest moment. Duncan didn't even need to pull the trigger when Nicholas took her head. The power was invigorating, and it led to many more successful battles from that day on.

Yes, Nicholas was certain he could win against Duncan. He had been holding back before but not again. The highlander's head was coming off today.

He pulled over at the side of the turnpike. Nicholas killed the stereo and reached back for his sword.

"You're not there to fight," he reminded Richard. "If I lose to Macleod and the snipers can't get him, you run. Is that clear?"

"Come on Nick, what am I fifteen?"

"Not physically, but at times I wonder." Nicholas checked the road to make sure no one was coming and stepped out, concealing his sword. "Listen, you're not just a part of the game anymore. You're a Watcher now and you have a responsibility to preserve my history."

"I'm a watcher's apprentice," Richard mumbled.

He kept his own sword ready just incase though, and walked silently beside Nicholas. The ground was soft but it felt like they were walking over concrete, guiding a prisoner into the execution chamber.

_Richard shouldn't be here, _Nicholas thought. _If I lose what have I done besides providing Duncan with another head? I should have trained him more. Horton cannot protect him forever…_

Nicholas recalled the day he first met Richard in the streets of Seacouver.

_Eddy was a bit too awkward on the guitar. He kept bumping into the microphone and his voice had a terrible squeal when he hit a high note, like the sound of a dolphin getting choked to death with a piece of barbed wire. The back up base player could barely remember what chord he was on, and the clarinet, while an amazing-if not cliché- attempt at trying to blend the old with the new, was just completely out there. Sammy, the drummer was the only thing this band had going for it, and if he had any sense he would have dropped these guys as soon as possible._

_Nicholas was just about to call it a night. He rubbed his eyes trying to keep from falling asleep, but the truth was Rose's Thorne wouldn't make it through a high school mixer much less to the top of the charts._

"_So, Mr. Ward what do you think?" Eddy asked when the solo was done._

"_What that was the song?" Nicholas asked, rubbing his ears._

"_Yeah see I was thinking it'd be like our title song, you know? We could make that the song everyone knows and everyone would ask us to play it you know?"_

"_I think we'd be very popular," the base player spoke up. "We've got a bit of Depeche Mode's rebellious nature along with David Bowie's sound."_

"_Son…" Nicholas responded, using every ounce of condescension he had on hand. "I will not tolerate such disrespect and blasphemy as you have uttered right now. I don't know how to tell you boys gently, so I'll just come out and say it, you're awful. You're music is terrible you sound like you're permanently stuck in puberty, and the only groupies who would ever go to your concerts are your mothers and sisters."_

_He paused for a moment and glanced at Sammy._

"_You, on the other hand," he said, pulling out a business card. "If you ever want a real gig, with real professionals, here's my number."_

_Sammy took the card, surprised._

"_Thanks," he uttered, feeling the glare of his friends like a wave of heat._

_With that Nicholas left the apartment building. This was only the fifth in a long day of failed auditions for bands to add to his label. But like a fisherman trying to make ends meet by fishing in a polluted stream, the drummer was the only good thing he found all day._

_In the car Nicholas checked his list of leads and scratched out Rose's Thorne. The only good thing to come out of this state was its coffee._

_As he made his way for the airport he felt a buzz. It wasn't the strong and overwhelming feeling he got with older ones, but a faint pinprick sense. Duncan had taught him to recognize the feeling a century earlier, when they began their massacre throughout Europe and America. It was the feeling of one who was not yet activated._

_Nicholas sighed. For a moment he considered ignoring it and letting whoever it was live their life in peace. The standard __modus operand__i__ was to activate the new immortal and take his quickening when he arose again. But ever since he and Duncan broke paths, Nicholas fell out of the practice._

_When it became slightly stronger Nicholas decided it was worth a look at least. He parked it besides an old building. There was a large window with a For Lease sign in large white letters painted onto the glass. Whoever it was, he was around here somewhere, and Nicholas had a hunch. He turned off the gas, stepped out of the car, and stepped into the breezeway of the store._

_Moments later, a boy crossed the street. The buzz died down and Nicholas waited. He was a good six feet tall with curly red hair beneath a white star bandana. The boy glanced about him to make sure no one was looking, and took a large piece of wire from his coat and began to work with the lock on the passenger side door._

_Nicholas drew a small knife from a pocket inside his jacket, and quietly snuck up behind the boy. When the boy had gotten the door open Nicholas grabbed him and held the knife just below the jugular._

"_Next time just pick the driver's side," he whispered. "You might have gotten somewhere. Get in the car."_

It wasn't the best way for a teacher and a student to meet. But Nicholas had known worse. His own mentor nearly took his head before he reached his tenth year in the Game.

Nicholas looked at his student as they walked towards the meeting place. Richard was no longer the dangerous street punk he started out as. He was a devoted student, a powerful ally and a keen and talented warrior. Nicholas owed Methos a debt for getting Richard into the Watchers, and under James Horton's tutelage no less. His boy would be taken care of.

Deep down Nicholas could hear the screams of the unseasoned immortals he had taken over the century. If Duncan's head could silence them, then it would be worth it.


	9. Chapter Eight

Yeesh, this took me long enough didn't it?

**Chapter 8**

They were far from sight of the road. No one was likely to see them here, accept for the snipers positioned many miles away.

Nicholas stood in the middle of a grassy field, sword drawn, his hair blowing in the wind. The faint whine of Richard's MP3 player spewing one of those angst-ridden, post-puberty teenage bands was the only thing breaking the silence.

"Has my taste in music inspired you at all?" He asked, trying to break the monotony.

"You mean the dinosaur bands you listen to?" Richard said. "Maybe when I'm five hundred…"

Nicholas chuckled. He was never one for nervous laughter, preferring a calm demeanor and a discriminate fashion. But Richard was younger and more prone to fear and anxiety. It wouldn't do either of them good if he thought his teacher was afraid as well.

A full hour past the time Nicholas indicated went by. Had Duncan scouted the place ahead of time? Did he know about the snipers?

"He must have figured this was a trap," Richard said, echoing his thoughts.

"Yes, but then where the hell is he?" Nicholas wondered. He was growing frustrated and tired from standing out here for so long. Perhaps that was part of Duncan's plan.

"I don't know, but I'm getting hungry."

"Are you ever anything but hungry these days?"

Richard gave a halfway grin.

"Well, I'm studious now and again."

"You've been picking up Horton's vocabulary. Not that I don't agree fully."

"Yeah well, all that studying has to pay off sometime. I just hope I live through this long enough to publish my own Chronicles."

The buzz hit them both.

"Richard, go." Nicholas ordered, pulling out his sword.

"But-"

"Out of here, now!"

Nicholas watched as his student gave in, reluctantly, retreating to a safer distance. If Duncan won this fight and tried to go for Richard, the snipers were ordered to cover him.

The sound of a trench coat brushing against the tall grass added to his growing sense of dread. He turned around as Duncan stopped.

"Been waiting long?" He asked, removing his katana.

"Not long." Nicholas replied, assuming his stance.

Duncan reached into a pocket and pulled out a radio. Before Nicholas could make a move to prevent it, he spoke a command into it. The sound of automatic weapon fire and screams of pain signaled the loss of his backup.

"You really didn't know me as well as you thought." Duncan said. "A few million can get you access to satellite photos of any area. They're getting quite detailed these days."

"This ends now!"

Nicholas opened with an aggressive swing. Duncan parried. They circled, each twirling their swords threateningly, waiting for the other to reveal an opening. Duncan faked a swing and when Nicholas attempted to block, he swung the blade once and sliced into his arm. Fortunately Nicholas' jacket took most of the blow and his arm was still good. He responded with another swipe.

Richard hit the ground and crawled towards one of the downed snipers, desperately hoping his black blazer and dark blue slacks wouldn't be a dead giveaway. His guess was that whoever shot the snipers would be watching the fight and nothing else.

A pool of blood was all ready forming around the body of the sniper. The man was slumped over the butt of his rifle, moaning in pain as he tried to take his last breath. Richard fought back the urge to puke as he turned the man over.

"My wife…" he moaned.

"What's her name?" Richard asked, holding the man's hand firmly. He wished there was something else he could do.

"S-s-ulch." His eyes went blank as he took his last breath.

Richard took the rifle and climbed to his feet, crouching low as he put some distance between himself and the body. Blood soaked his clothes, ruining the expensive fabric. James would give him hell about this later.

A spray of bullets cut the grass in front of him. One nailed him in the knee and he hit the ground. More gunfire caused Richard to cover his head. One bullet came within inches of his head.

When it stopped, Richard grabbed the rifle and tried to position it so he could look through the scope. He scanned the direction where the bullets were coming from and saw the man from the church reloading an AK47.

"You never learn, do you?"

He lined the sights with the man and tried to fire. But the blood from the sniper made the trigger slippery.

The man slammed a new clip into the AK47 and aimed again. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Richard got to his feet and tried to charge. Several bullets struck him, sending him flying before he hit the ground hard. The sniper rifle flew from his hands and as he managed a few gasping breaths, he could see the man cheering himself.

_Don't worry. I'll be right back,_ Richard thought, before dying.

* * *

"You should go back," Duncan told Devon. "You're not safe in this world." 

"I'm not safe anywhere," Devon argued. "Besides, I survived in New York for the last thirty years practically."

They were still in Central Park, trying to figure out what to do. Duncan didn't want to leave, in case some other immortal from this universe walked through the portal. A few times he would see mortals walking through the tunnel but not even noticing the portal. And when they came out on the other side it was clear they hadn't even left this world. So that was one complication out of the way at least.

But what if the evil immortals in this world found out about the portal? What if Darius had never been affected by the quickening that sent him to a life in the monastery? For all Duncan knew, someone like Xavier St. Cloud could be alive and well in this world, still determined as ever to claim the Prize.

Was Connor still alive here? Would he be the same person here, or some evil aberration like this supposed doppelganger Devon encountered. Devon was another problem all together.

"You may be good with a sword," Duncan said. "But the key to survival is not remaining where you can easily be killed. There are plenty of seasoned Immortals living in New York, far older than you or I. One mistake is all it takes."

Devon thought about this. He sighed.

"Jason left me his summer house in Vermont," he said. "I could always fake my death in New York and go out there. But the last time we were there another Immortal tried to kill us both…well, it probably wouldn't be a smart move."

"No, definitely not after only a few decades. You could move to the Midwest."

"The hard part isn't moving it's starting over again. If it weren't for Jason I'd never have had my diploma, I wouldn't have gone to college, and I would have been a stock boy for all eternity." Devon sighed.

Duncan could see he was both saddened and embarrassed about all of this. A familiar urge to place a friendly arm around the boy's shoulder crept up.

"Jason gave me everything," he went on. "I still remember when my boss told me the news."

"_This is your captain speaking. We're now beginning our descent into New York. Please buckle your seatbelts and place your seats and trays in their upright positions."_

_Devon gazed out the window as the lights of New York City filled the window. Clouds floated gently by the window as the wings adjusted to make the descent. He couldn't wait to tell his boss the news._

_When the plane landed and docked with the terminal, he removed his briefcase from the overhead compartment, checking its contents while he waited patiently for the other passengers to leave. Inside was a document, signed and dated by Mr. Carver, along with the bill of sale and property deeds to the Carver building in Boston. The old man was suffering from financial difficulties causing him to lose a good portion of his business, so rather than force him to file bankruptcy, Devon was sent on his very first assignment to claim the building in exchange for what his boss deemed to be a fair price._

_Seeing no alternative and having no one else willing to bail him out, Mr. Carver took the offer and lost his business with a little less embarrassment than if he had lost it at the hands of the IRS._

_Devon collected his suitcase at the terminal, and went into the restroom to be sure that his sword was still packed safely beneath the layers of clothing. He didn't need it in Boston, thank God, but now that he was back in New York it wasn't a good idea to go too far without it. He took it out and placed it in the sheath that was sewn into the fabric of his trench coat. The blade was small enough so that it took up very little space, and the coat was roomy enough that the sword didn't stand out._

_In the limousine he fell asleep while the Yankees game played on the little television. The flashing lights of the police vehicles woke him as they neared his office building._

"_Looks like another great day in New York," was the driver's uninvited comment._

_He parked a few feet from the parking garage, where the police had set up a temporary road block and were currently directing traffic in alternate routes. As Devon got out of the car he saw the bright red lights of the ambulance coming from the lower level of the garage. It pulled out of the exit and wailed as it drove off._

_Devon saw his boss talking to a policeman._

"_Mister Sousa?" He spoke, trying to get his attention._

_Sousa turned and saw Devon. His face was ashen with grief and shock. The policeman seemed to have enough info and he returned to the cruiser._

"_Devon," Sousa said, his voice faltering. "Welcome back."_

_Devon was confused._

"_Sir, what's going on?"_

"_You're twenty-three right?" Sousa asked, placing an arm around Devon. "Come to my office. You'll need a drink for what I'm about to tell you."_

_In the office, Sousa poured himself and Devon a shot of Kentucky bourbon. Unaccustomed to drinking, Devon took a polite sip while Sousa swallowed the shot._

"_We got the building," he said, trying to fill the air with something besides the dread it was thick with. "Mr. Carver was happy to take the money."_

"_Excellent work," Sousa said, pouring another shot for himself. He was visibly distraught and Devon knew he was trying to calm down himself before saying what he had to say. "You know Devon, I had my doubts about you at first. But Jason has always been one of my finest employees. He was so certain you'd make an asset to this company and I wasn't disappointed."_

_Devon's heart stopped._

"_Mr. Sousa…what happened?"_

"_I don't understand it," Sousa said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "Mr. Talbot was not the sort to make enemies. But…"_

"_What. Happened." Devon demanded, turning his fear into anger._

"_He was on his way to the car an hour ago," Sousa said finally. "Apparently someone was waiting for him because the next thing you know, Shannon runs into my office and tells me to call the cops. Jason has been murdered Devon."_

_Devon looked down at the drink in his hand. Acting on impulse he swallowed it in one gulp, coughing as it went down the wrong way._

"_How?" He croaked._

"_That's the frightening part," Sousa answered, looking at him sympathetically. "The police say he was shot and then…his head was removed from his body. It was a clean cut, like the lunatic just wanted to make sure the job was done. The strange thing was, all of the lights, security cameras, everything was horribly damaged beyond repair, as if the mighty Zeus himself decided to walk in and have a field day."_

_Devon ran his hand through his hair. Somehow he always imagined Jason living longer than a few decades. He was wrong now._

"Jason left me the car, money, the house and the land around it." Devon told Duncan. "Mr. Sousa gave me Jason's office and his pay rate, so I was able to move to a pretty decent apartment in New York and still pay the property tax on the house. I actually get a pretty good return on that thing come April, 15th."

"Have you 'died' yet?" Duncan asked. Absentmindedly he led Devon out of the park.

"No," Devon answered. "Mr. Sousa passed away in 1999, so I used the opportunity to grab my file and fudge a few facts on it. When a new boss came and most of my coworkers were long gone I snuck back into the files as Mike Talbot, Jason's youngest son and Devon Talbot's younger brother. My 'relatives' had such high accolades that I was expected to be a chip off the old block. Gotta love the power of family."

"I know what you mean."

Duncan recalled all of the times his own "father's" reputation had helped him with tough situations. Before he could say anything else, a Lexus with tinted windows pulled up beside them. A black, unmarked van pulled up behind them and several men jumped out of the side, surrounding them and leveling automatic weapons. They were dressed like SWAT agents, possibly to avoid suspicion from civilians.

"Put your hands up!"

Duncan made a move to reach for his sword, but a startlingly familiar voice from the Lexus discouraged him.

"I wouldn't do that Mr. Macleod."

Duncan's heart pounded as adrenaline flooded his veins. An old rage welled him inside of him as he turned to face the man who'd brought so much pain to his life.

"James Horton." He said, with a voice that dripped like venom.


	10. Chapter Nine

Eventually I'm going to come up with a way to differentiate between Good Duncan and Evil Duncan. But I won't worry about that until they're in the same scene together. So if things get confusing bare with me, I'll try to minimize it.

Also, this chapter is going to be a little short. Sorry about that. :)

**Chapter 9**

"I'm not surprised you recognize me," Horton said. His tone was as calculated and arrogant as it always was. "Ward appears to have underestimated you again."

Duncan forgot where he was for the moment as the embers of a flame he had long thought suffocated, rekindled again. Without hesitation he drew his katana, ready to slice open this monster.

"Fire!"

Devon hit the ground as bullets shredded the highlander instantly. He covered his ears as gunfire drowned out the sounds of New York and threatened to shatter his ear drums in the process. In the confusion he wasn't sure if he should try to run or if he should help.

Duncan felt his heart and organs tearing apart. Killed instantly, he dropped the sword and fell forward, splattering blood all over the pavement and Devon's own clothes.

"Get him in the van, now."

Devon looked up and watched helplessly as three men picked up Duncan's body and tossed it into the back of the van. He saw someone else fitting his arms and legs with shackles before slamming the door shut. These people knew what they were doing!

He looked up at Horton, who was now standing over him and holding out his hand. The van sped off, followed by the terrified gazes of the on lookers. Only a few men remained behind, one to help Horton and the others to provide spin control.

"You should come with us," he said, urgently. "The police will be here shortly and they will ask you questions you can't answer."

Devon scrambled to his feet and grabbed Horton by the lapels.

"Who the hell are you people?" He screamed, forcing Horton into the Lexus. The other gunman rushed to Horton's aid, trying to pry the younger immortal from his employer.

Horton struggled to remove a small knife from his pocket and drove it into the young Immortal's stomach. Devon weakened and lost his grip.

"Help me get him in the back seat," Horton ordered the man.

"But he tried to kill you, sir. Is it wise?"

"Do it."

They drove off as soon as Devon was secure, leaving the others behind to be certain the police never got word of what happened.

* * *

While Duncan and Nick still battled along the fields, Harvey approached the area where Richard had fallen. From his experience with Duncan he knew that bullets wouldn't keep him down for long. But the little prick gave him a scar along his neck and he was dying for payback.

"Little punk," Harvey cursed. He raised his gun, expecting to find Richie's body, but was surprised to find it gone. The sniper rifle was still there, but the kid had moved off somehow without him seeing. "Where'd you go you little piece of crap?"

Harvey looked around and saw thought he saw kid's blazer off to his left. He pumped several shots into it before moving in to get a better look. Duncan would finish off the David Bowie clone

As he got closer the stench of rigor mortis filled his nostrils. He never heard of an Immortal staying dead for that long. When he was close enough he caught a glimpse of the fatigues of one of the snipers he just shot.

A bullet ripped through his back and tore through his stomach. Harvey toppled over the corpse, managing to catch a glimpse of Richard, standing over one of the other bodies, rifle in hand.

_Nice shot kid, _Harvey thought. A second shot silenced his thoughts forever.

* * *

Nicholas circled Duncan, waiting for him to make the first move. The battle had run about twenty minutes and he was all ready exhausted.

"Why kid yourself, Ward?" Duncan taunted. He had long since shrugged off his coat and was now twirling the blade occasionally, daring Nicholas to rush him. "You have no more backup and you could never hope to defeat me without it. You practically served me yourself and your student on a silver platter. And even if you do, where will you go where you won't run into other immortals. Others who would love nothing more than to take your head for all of the knowledge it contains. We were in on this together Ward and you're just as guilty as I am. Not even your Watchers will be able to protect you forever."

"It's possible you're right Macleod," Nicholas conceited. He saw Richard out of the corner of his eye, taking aim at Duncan with one of the sniper rifles. The boy would have a clear shot if he wasn't in the way.

The voices of a thousand immortals screamed from within. Nicholas tried to tune them out, but they grew louder and louder with each day. Now they cheered for his death as well as Duncan's.

He took one last glance at Richard. He'd have a better shot of killing Duncan during the quickening.

_Sorry my student, _Nicholas thought. _It looks as though my chronicle ends here._

"But I hope you're ready to pay the price for that platter." Nicholas lunged for Duncan's stomach.

Duncan sidestepped the attack and spun around on his feet. The blade came down fast and hard.

"Nooooo!" Richard screamed, taking aim and firing.

Duncan didn't have time to react. He was on the ground at almost the same time Nicholas was.

Richard dropped the rifle and ran to his mentor's side. Nicholas' head fell a few inches from his neck and new fresh blood added to the coppery sent of the blood all ready spilled.

A gust of wind picked up as a mist formed. Richard ignored it as he took Nicholas's sword and kicked Duncan onto his back. He raised the sword, ready to behead the highlander and end it for good.

But the first bolts of lightening struck him. Richard stumbled back as the voices and memories of immortals filled his thoughts.

_Amanda Montrose through the eyes of Nick Wolfe the faces of men and women slaughtered by Caspian Hugh Fitzcarn hard at work learning to read Jeremy Peterson and his loving wife and daughter endless numbers of recently activated Immortals, cut down before they had a chance Marcus Constantine battling for his life in the arena._

Dark clouds blocked out the sun and a gale force wind surrounded Richard as he unwittingly absorbed the Quickening of his mentor, his first assignment in the Watchers, and his dearest friend.

Duncan revived in time to see the brat steal his victory. Deep within he felt the power of Nicholas Ward's quickening, but he was powerless to absorb it. He got to his feet and readied his sword in preparation.

"Enjoy it while it lasts!" He screamed in rage.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter 10**

A shutter passed through his system as Devon revived. He was lying on a cot in a dark cell. It wasn't a prison cell exactly. More like the kind found in monasteries.

He sat up and got his bearings. There was a faint buzz coming from somewhere outside the cell. His swords were gone and he wasn't wearing any clothing. Fortunately a blanket was protecting what was left of his modesty.

Devon saw a single chair and a desk off to the side. Fresh clothes sat neatly folded on the chair. There was even a pair of brand new penny loafers, in an open shoebox on top of the desk.

_They're really kind to prisoners in this reality, _Devon thought, sardonically.

He quickly got dressed, surprised to find the clothes were his size. What else did these people know about him?

The cell door was unlocked, which was another surprise. Clearly he wasn't being held against his will, but it would have been nice if _someone _were here to explain this to him.

"Duncan?" He called out, searching for the source of the buzz.

He followed the corridor, seeing other cell doors, much like the one he had been in earlier. In a foyer a large crucifix hung from the wall. A bronze Jesus gazed up at the heavens, sadly as the crown of thorns dug into his forehead.

Out of habit Devon crossed himself and knelt in reverence, thankful that he was on Holy Ground.

"You're awake," someone said.

Devon looked up and saw the man who stabbed him. What did Duncan call him?

"My name is James Horton," the man said, as Devon got to his feet. "You have no need to fear us. We mean you no harm."

Devon restrained himself. But deep down he wanted to throttle the man. "I don't know what rules are in place here, but where I come from, killing is considered pretty damn harmful."

"We had all ready drawn too much attention," Horton said, turning to regard the crucifix. "You were being unreasonable and I didn't feel you were safe being left out there."

Devon returned his attention to Jesus. It was difficult to carry a grudge when the savior was watching them.

"Where are we, anyhow?" He asked.

"In an old convent in upstate New York. The last nuns to live here died out over a hundred years ago from consumption. Tuberculosis," Horton added, answering Devon's quizzical look. "The building itself was never used again until the Watchers came along."

"Watchers?"

"We are an ancient order, going back thousands of years. Our purpose is to observe and record the exploits of your kind. We watch, record, but never interfere."

Devon snorted.

"Does it get hard to keep a straight face whenever you drop us that line?"

"Lately we've had to make amends to that rule. Ever since the day Duncan Macleod and Nicholas Ward began their reign of terror, in an effort to be the last two to survive the Gathering."

"But the Gathering was just a myth wasn't it? Like the whole Y2K thing?"

"Y2K?" Horton replied, confused.

"The year 2000? The whole world was supposed to shut down because computers couldn't-oh…but that never happened here did it?"

Horton gestured for Devon to come with him. They went to an office that used to belong to the reverend mother, but was no being used as a laboratory. A few scientists were hunched over high powered microscopes, computers and other technology that violently clashed with the 19th century convent.

The two Celtic swords lay side by side on a table lit by a bright lamp.

"Your references to not coming from 'here', lead to some interesting speculation," Horton went on, gesturing to the swords. "I've had our people analyzing these swords for the last hour. Both are identical in every fashion, right down to their atomic structure. The only real difference is this one."

Horton pointed to the one on the left.

"It's full of nicks and cuts, very poorly cared for. How the immortal that possessed this could have lasted so long is a miracle."

Devon recalled his double's seemingly unkempt nature. The sword was the same, leading him to think that the Jason Talbot of this world must have trained him too.

"You can imagine our surprise when Devon McMillan's Watcher reported you dead, only to have you show up near Central Park, walking side by side with Macleod."

"You and your entourage just happened to be cruising around the Big Apple fully armed, huh?" Devon said. "I know traffic can get bad but the machine guns were a bit much."

Horton sighed.

"The short of it is we had set up an attempt on Duncan Macleod's life. At this very moment Nicholas Ward should be dueling against him. It was decided as a back up plan that we should monitor the city and the airports, in case Macleod was on to our plan. This was the one chance we had to eliminate him forever and we were making huge sacrifices in order to get him."

"But you've got the wrong guy," Devon argued. "Duncan-_this_ Duncan-is from my world. I never even knew the guy before I met his double in _this _world."

Devon told him everything. Horton listened attentively, asking many questions. They ate dinner in a refurbished dining room. Only a few others were there, and at a closer glance Devon noticed blue Y-shaped tattoos on their wrists.

"Is that your symbol?" He asked.

"It's our identifying mark, yes. We get them from the moment we become apprentices to the older members of the order. Now tell me again how this portal works. You say only immortals can tell that it's there?"

"That's what Duncan figures," Devon answered. "He thinks it has something to do with how the Quickening happened."

Horton nodded. Apparently he was drawing the same conclusions.

The buzz on Devon's radar died down as Duncan was escorted into the dining room. The escort took a place beside the entrance, gun in hand.

"Duncan!" Devon stood up. "It's okay, really. Horton thought you were the other Duncan."

"I know." Macleod responded. He fixed Horton with a glare like a wild lion staring at a zookeeper. "You'll understand then, that I forgot for a moment where I was."

"Indeed," Horton said, holding out a hand. "Not even the Duncan Macleod of _this _world would be so impulsive in the center of a populated city, surrounded by armed men."

Duncan refused his hand. He didn't care what timeline this was, the only way he'd touch that man was with his blade across the throat.

"Would you care for something to eat?"

"Where's my sword?"

"Safe in my office," Horton said. He ordered the attending apprentice to bring Duncan a plate. "Mr. Macleod, please understand something. If I wanted to kill you I would have done it long ago. The lives your doppelganger has taken in this world was enough to make me want to act with equal irrationality such as you've displayed."

Duncan took a seat beside Devon.

"Oh, and I suppose the idea of immortality doesn't fill you with rage. Or maybe in this universe you're really the good guy and Joe Dawson is the bastard that kills Immortals because of how quickly they heal."

Horton scowled. His fist clenched over the handle of a butter knife. Devon's heart jumped as he tried to think of a way to diffuse the situation.

"For your information," Horton began, his voice was as calm as it could be, but Devon could tell his patience was slipping. "My brother lives in a nursing home in. He spends the mornings screaming at the doctors, who he's convinced are Viet Cong jailers, and the afternoons in sedation as they strap him down to keep him from harming himself. So whatever misgivings you have about _our _relationship, you will be kind to keep my family out of it."

Duncan, for his part, seemed genuinely sympathetic. As if he knew he had gone too far now. But he didn't apologize. Horton took sometime to regain his composure before speaking.

"Mr. McMillan has explained to me the reason you are here. As you have also concluded, I too believe that the nature of the battle and the quickening is the key to undoing this problem."

"We've thought about this," Duncan said. "But it doesn't make the solution any easier. I won't go hunting down some innocent Immortal just to close the gateway."

"But you've missed the key point of all this," Horton said. "The nature of the quickening alone is only the basis of how all this came to be. You have to take into account the very nature of the battle.

"First this young man takes Gavin Castleton's head in his own world. At the same time Castleton beheads Devon McMillan in this reality as well. The quickening itself wasn't what opened the gateway. My theory is that the universe shifted somehow in response to a synchronous form of balance. When these two Immortals died at the same time our universe became in tuned to yours, and parts of each quickening locked the two worlds together."

"So you're saying that not just any quickening will do it?" Duncan asked.

"I'm saying only one very specific quickening will do it," Horton said. A look came into his eyes that Duncan was all too familiar with. A look of pure ruthlessness. "And you are the only one who can initiate it."

_Well, at least some never change, _Duncan thought. _He'd still love nothing more than to see my head fly from my body._

"How do we get him here?"


	12. Chapter Eleven

This will probably be the last chapter until Monday. The Job Corps center gives us a four day weekend for Thanksgiving. But I wanted to leave you with this meaty little chapter, complete with a battle between alternate Richard and Evil Duncan.

Also, hardcore fans of the series may recognize the line Good Duncan uses while training Devon.

**Chapter Eleven**

August 12, 2005: Current Timeline

At any given moment a woman could be carrying over several thousand dollars worth of merchandise to her hotel room in New York City. She could move like lightening through her favorite stores, picking items off the rack like a skilled fashion designer, barely even looking at the prices as she swiped her credit card.

Most women who came to New York to shop didn't give much thought to finance charges or overdrawn limits. This was a city where "If you have to ask…" was a rule of life. And if this particular woman obeyed any rules in her thousand years of existence, it was this one she took as pure gospel.

It figured Amanda couldn't be trusted with Macleod's credit card. And ever since the Watchers installed people in the credit card companies, it was growing easier to track him down through his records.

Fortunately, with over thirty years of experience tracking down their kind, Joe was experienced enough to blend into the scenery as he tracked her. He avoided renting a room at the Plaza, preferring instead to make use of the Watchers Headquarters in the country. That way he could be honest in telling his superiors that this was an assignment.

As he made his way for the Plaza, hoping Macleod was there all ready, the familiar retirement bug buzzed in his ear. This last trip to Austria was the most his family had seen of him since the incident with Jacob Kell and the Sanctuary.

Joe sighed. Spend the last of his life with his mortal family or his immortal one. It was a tough choice considering. Was this the reverse of what Duncan felt with Tessa? Or Conner with Rachel? In the thirty years of watching Immortals trying to balance a normal life with the dangers of the Game he figured the answer would come to him. But like so many others the question just stared at him with the intensity of a deer watching the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

Finding Duncan's room number was easy enough. But when he knocked on the door no one answered. Had Amanda left while he was in the elevator? He heard the shower running and figured it would be a while before he saw either of them. He jotted a note down along with his cell pone number in a small notebook kept incase of emergencies and asked one of the maids to leave it on the table inside. Then he went out to find a bar where he could get a cheap cold beer.

It wasn't long before Amanda called to invite him to dinner back at the hotel. She didn't know where Duncan was but she was sure he wouldn't mind running up his bill by ordering room service.

_I hope he wasn't too worried about his credit score, _he thought.

A few hours later, Duncan still hadn't returned. Amanda was understandably worried.

"New York is like a Mecca for Immortals," she told Joe. "Not even Duncan could hold his own here forever."

"I'm sure he's fine," Joe tried to reassure her. "Do you remember the last place he said he'd be?"

"He was very interested in this bridge in Central Park," Amanda recalled. "We saw two immortals fighting out there and he was concerned that one of them would leave a body behind."

"Yes, he was telling me about a sword he found. I ran it through the archives and came up with Gavin Castleton. His first death was back in 1857, during a gang war in Manhattan. The sword was a gift from his mentor, Sally Mossier."

"She couldn't have taught him too well," Amanda said. "He lost to a junior."

"Actually, I ran the description Mac gave me as well and came up with Devon McMillan. Now Devon's hardly seasoned, but he's been active in the Game since 1974."

Amanda whistled impressively. "Thirty years in the Big Apple. The kid's got some moxie."

"There's more. His watcher hasn't seen him in two days and he hasn't shown up for work either. Now this guy's good at his job and he's on Devon's tail from sunrise to sunset."

"He must not have much of a home life."

"He's new." Joe grinned. "We crack the whip pretty tightly on them."

"So what do we do now?" Amanda asked.

"About the only thing we can do is wait and hope Duncan shows up." Joe didn't like the look she gave him. So he added, "But I suppose I can go check out the park. Maybe it'll turn up some clues."

"I'll order you a burger for when you get back." Amanda said, nodding with approval.

"Make it with no onions please, and order me a beer while you're at it."

Joe made a mental note to repay Duncan himself when the time came.

August 12, 2005 Alternate Timeline

Richard saw Duncan's attack coming a mile away. Nicholas's memories showed him all of Duncan Macleod's favorite moves, his so called "secret weapons" and a few tricks of Nicholas's own.

Duncan charged, his blade ready for the killing blow before the fight began. Richard stepped to the side and met the blade with his own. He used the momentum to swipe and slash across Duncan's side. They circled one another, blades clanging together as the afternoon sun climbed.

Duncan made an attempt to stab. Richard side stepped him and tripped him up. Duncan stumbled but spun around in time to block Richard's killing blow. Richard was still charged with the power of his mentor's quickening and it filled him with an unkind pleasure to see the highlander, wide-eyed with shock that such a young one could outmaneuver him.

"I've never taken a Quickening this powerful," Richard thought out loud. "Not even Mako had _this _many memories." He stopped to twirl his sword and switch from right to left and back again. "I've never done that before either. It's like having the world's biggest sugar rush, you know?"

Duncan swiped and Richard parried. Richard attacked forcing Duncan to parry, and used the momentum to force the highlander to retreat.

"You're a brat who was given his daddy's shot gun," Duncan taunted. "No more. It's a real pity. Now that Ward's gone I could use a replacement."

"Only one of us is winning that prize," Richard said, with a growl. "And it won't be you."

Duncan laughed.

"You have my ego too. It's really too bad I must kill you now."

Richard and Duncan circled again, struck once, parried once and resumed. Richard stepped back, missing a swipe that would have cut his stomach open and stabbed. Duncan evaded the blade and tried to make a move for the head, only to be blocked and forced back. Richard swiped and Duncan parried, making another attempt on his head. The boy was fast and he put some more space between them to rethink his strategy.

Duncan faked a second attack for his head, causing Richard to defend himself. He then sliced open Richard's left arm, spouting blood everywhere. Richard grabbed his wound, dropping the sword.

"So now you see," Duncan said, preparing to make the blow and relishing the victory. "All of that knowledge accounts for absolutely nothing. But I hope you had fun with it while it lasted."

As Duncan brought the sword down something struck his chest. He stumbled back, tightening his grip. A state trooper approached them and fired again.

Richard fell to his knees, holding his arm and glaring at the Duncan's immobilized body. Could he make the final cut with one good arm? The trooper placed the gun back in its holster and knelt beside Richard.

"Son, let me take a look at that arm."

Richard ignored the trooper and reached for Nicholas' sword.

"Son, son!"

The trooper grabbed Richard's good arm and pushed him on to his back, holding him in place with his foot.

"Just lay still." The trooper said, pulling out his radio. "This is Huxley on Interstate 23, requesting backup. There's been a shootout of some kind. We have men down and one alive and in need of medical attention."

Pinned down and bleeding, Richard was helpless. His wound would heal but then he'd have questions to answer when the coroner arrived. This would be all over the news by the end of the day unless he thought fast.

"I need to puke," he said. He puffed out his cheeks and made a gagging sound.

The trooper quickly took his foot off and helped Richard turn over.

"Take it easy, son," he said, firmly but kindly.

Richard used his good arm and grabbed the gun. The trooper grabbed his wrist and tried to pry it away. Richard rammed his head into the man's face, breaking his nose. He pulled the Velcro top off of the holster and removed the gun, placing it to his forehead.

"No!" The trooper yelled.

The sound was deafening as blood stained the ground again.

* * *

Horton sent out a detail to find out what became of the battle. For the first time in his career he was truly puzzled as to how to include this new bit of information in his reports. Certainly the fabric of reality was sacred to the other Watchers. And if he wound up facing a Tribunal the report would, at the very least, prove his innocence by way of insanity.

Out in the fields the good Duncan sparred with the boy. He felt the extra training would prepare him for the battle ahead.

_But how does one defeat oneself? _Horton pondered, gazing out through the tiny window and watching the highlander and the junior mirroring one another's movements.

"It's too low." Duncan took Devon's arm and raised it, so the blade better protected his neck. "I noticed you did this a lot in your fight with Gavin. He could have had your head a few times were it not for your speed, but that won't always save you. Okay, now parry my blow…good…but your form is weak. I can easily disarm you again like before, remember our first fight?"

"I've never been very muscular."

"You should work on your upper body strength a bit and exercise a more to increase your stamina. Stamina and strength are both important in a fight or you lose your head."

Duncan showed Devon some of the signature moves of many of his former opponents. Horton didn't recognize any of them, but it was possible these Immortals were probably only active in the other reality.

What had Horton's own alternate self done to make _this _Duncan hate him so? He wondered. Was he to blame for the sins of someone he didn't know? What if this alternate Horton were to stand trial before judge, and it were found that both were just as guilty for the crimes committed by one? Was he, in fact, just as guilty for the actions of this James Horton, who was merely a mirror of his own imperfections?

Horton sighed. Philosophy was for a time and place far from here. Now was a time when things were no longer as simple as stopping one mad man from becoming the last Immortal.

"Improvisation, good," Duncan praised. "But try not to think so much…that's right. Never expose your back to your enemy, always face forward. Take every advantage, never let him see your weakness. If his stomach is exposed, stab, if he stumbles trip him. There are no prizes for coming in second place, anything goes."

"What about when you win?" Devon asked when they lowered their swords. "Jason always taught me it's just as acceptable to let an enemy live."

"That is true," Duncan replied. "Always listen to your brain and to your heart when that time comes. Never let your passion drive you to taking a head, or it will eat away at you for eternity."

"Has that ever happened to you?" Devon asked.

A knock came at the door. Horton didn't get to hear Duncan's response. It was only the first of his regrets that afternoon, but not the worse to come.


End file.
